


The Love That Has To Keep Shouting Its Name aka Hero Harry’s Attention-Seeking Actions a Huge Howl for Help

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Complete, EWE, Fisting, Homophobia, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex, Slash, Stubble, power games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> In which Harry fights with the Wizarding press, befriends a Muggle role model, explores his political-activist side, and buys rather a lot of flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love That Has To Keep Shouting Its Name aka Hero Harry’s Attention-Seeking Actions a Huge Howl for Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslyfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/gifts).



> **Pairing/Threesome:** Harry/Draco  
> **Rating:** NC-17  
> **Warnings:** EWE, Rough sex and power games; i.e. biting, rimming and fisting.  
> **Summary:** Harry has a really big problem. It just got a lot worse. He's been tolerating it, but this? This means war. This time the press is going _down_. Enter… Draco Malfoy?  
> **Disclaimer:** Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.  
> **Author's Note:** as soon as I read Curiouslyfic's request I knew I wanted to write that fic! A bunny about her prompt: "**That Thing They Did That Time That Made Witch Weekly STFU (and may have broken Potter's fan club for good)**" hopped right into my head and I asked for this author. The day I received the assignment I began to write. I was off! Excited and eager, I wrote. And wrote. And wrote! I ended up with a week's extension and a forty thousand word story. I really hope you enjoy it, Curiouslyfic! I worked to get in several of your pornish requests, such as: "**Rough sex and power games; i.e. biting; marking; … fighting for control between lovers. Kink-wise, I'm good with most of the hardcore stuff: … rimming and fisting are bulletproof...**" I think I got in several of your "fic-wise" requests as well, but those are more subjective and I will let you judge for yourself, rather than list them here to spoil readers and possibly cause disagreement. ;)  
> I am grateful to Anna Fugazzi for spending a great deal of time going over this story, brunchboy for a lot of insider information on gay sex, and Pionie for britpicking. Thank you so much to all three of you!

Harry cursed the day _Witch Weekly_ had discovered Photoshop.

It started out an ordinary morning. His wand started buzzing and he woke naked, warm and alone under the lopsided knitted wool blanket Hermione had given him as a housewarming gift. His floor length indigo coloured curtains made the hopeful show of damp morning sunlight look gloomy, so he opened them with a flick of his wand. He scratched his balls as he made his way to the toilet and then he stretched like a grumpy cat. He pissed. He cleaned his hands and his teeth and threw on a dressing gown.

He fetched his wand—still by hand, hadn't mastered wandless _Accio_ yet, damn it.

Yawning, he debated Apparating to the kitchen. Then, rolling his eyes, he declared himself lazy and walked down the stairs. He started the tea kettle, scrambled four eggs on the stove, perfectly toasted two slices of pumpkin seed wholemeal bread with his wand, and let in the handsome, black and white post owl with _The Prophet_.

He tossed the owl a treat and, amused, watched her catch it in mid flight. He loved this enormous old rambling kitchen. Big enough for an owl to fly through. Pepper dipped her speckled head at him. They had a relationship now, and he quite appreciated it. Having the same _ Prophet_ owl every day was a nice bonus of having moved to rural Northumberland, a bit north of Hadrian's wall, after he'd donated Grimmauld Place to the orphanage Ginny and Hermione had founded. The owls didn't fly all the way from London or northerners wouldn't get their morning paper till late afternoon, so _The Prophet_ Flooed large batches to post offices for local owl delivery.

Harry still hadn't quite managed to "replace" Hedwig, but he was starting to entertain the notion of asking Corazon at the local post if she'd be willing to sell Pepper.

He made the tea, English Breakfast today, sat down in front of his breakfast, and opened the paper.

That's when his first gulp of tea—followed by most of the rest of the cup—landed all over the front page of the complimentary copy of _Witch Weekly_ he thought he'd made clear to Corazon he never wanted to see again.

"Fuck a duck!" he bellowed, and cleaned up the mess with his wand, but the damage was done. The "Harry Potter" writhing with and near-drooling on two buxom blonde witches (one pressing her round arse into his crotch, the other pressing her improbably large tits into his back) on the cover of _ Witch Weekly _ was still seared into his mind and his tea was still gone.

Harry wanted to find the Muggle-born who'd reprogrammed Photoshop for magic and … really now. Something had to be done.

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"Hey look! It's my favourite straight ponce!"

Harry cuffed George on the back of the head, deliberately getting Floo soot in his hair.

"Figures you'd seen it by now. Thought you never stopped working?"

"Harry the whole damn country's seen it. And a'course I stop working sometimes. My dick's not going to suck itself, now is it?"

"Dunno George, I've never actually seen it." Harry stared at George's crotch. "Knowing you, though…."

"Oh fuck, Harry," Ron bellowed as he walked in, wiping his hands on a hideously fuchsia apron. "Don't say shit like that. He'll invent something horrible and make me come up with the strategic marketing for it, and then I'll never pull again."

Harry started to leer. "Or you'll never fuck a girl again, but you'll pull an awful lot."

George stroked contemplatively at his nonexistent beard. "Unless I invent something that will pull for you. This has merit…."

"Hey!" George started ducking, hiding his face and grinning as Ron and Harry smacked him about the head and shoulders.

"You shut it, George. None of that! There'll be wet noodles involved in the beating next time, you git!"

Harry turned to Ron and stared. "Ooh, there's a threat, Ron. You keep him running!"

Ron looked deeply indignant. "Didn't say the wet noodles were literal, Harry. Could be…" he winked, "metaphorical, you know."

Harry laughed. "Crikey, mate, I thought you and Hermione broke up!"

"Yeah little brother, you don't have to strain your mouth around those big words anymore. We all know—"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up." Ron was still laughing. "So Hermione taught me some words. You leave her out of this!"

"Gentlemen." The voice was cultured and impatient. Harry turned to see who'd spoken. Draco Malfoy had entered the room. When had Draco fucking Malfoy walked in? The room wasn't that big, so he was very near. But Harry stepped one foot closer before he'd even realized. He stopped moving and made sure not to approach again.

Malfoy was wearing the most severely tailored dark blue business robes Harry had seen outside a Wizengamot hearing. He looked like a young, blond barrister. Except instead of a briefcase he was carrying a large wooden box, surprisingly plain except for a slight glow of magic. He tossed a disobedient lock of hair from his eyes with a brief movement of his head and Harry's breath caught in his lungs. Make that a young, blond, _gay_ barrister. Straight wizards didn't move like that. Straight wizards didn't wear tiny diamond studs in the curve over each soft earlobe. Straight wizards didn't smell as good as Malfoy did. Straight wizards didn't make Harry's libido sit up and beg like a hungry dog.

Yeah, so it was Malfoy. Looked like Ron and George were over it, if the man was here to make a delivery. If they were big enough men to let go of the past, Harry could do it too. Especially for a… big man.

A crazy, half-formed, thoroughly enticing idea was grabbing Harry by the balls. Staring at the floor, he manufactured a pick up line, half remembered from something he'd heard in a movie. Then he leaned insouciantly back against the counter behind him, deliberately turning to Malfoy with the side of his face that the reporters were always sycophantically cooing was his "best." Hoping he didn't look like a dork, he smiled as winningly as he knew how.

"Well, don't you clean up nice, Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

Ron grinned. "Malfoy's our little potions genius, Harry. Didn't you know he produces half the liquids Wheezes uses? Shit, that's hard to say. Liquids Wheezes uses, liquids Wheezes uses, liquids Wheezes uses…"

George smacked Ron across the back of the head. "Shut up quick little brother, before I realize what a moron you are and fire you."

"You can't fire me. I bought the other half of the shop!"

"Can't have," Harry interjected, "I own a quarter of it!"

"Half of what was left, then," Ron glowered.

"Gentlemen," Draco interrupted. His voice was an icicle. He placed the crate on a countertop and removed the lid. Harry watched his hands. He wore no rings, his nails looked immaculate. His fingers were long and slender.

There were crystalline vials inside the crate, carefully packed in colour coordinated rows and surrounded with a gentle glow, far more discernable with the lid off. Harry guessed _unbreakable_ charms. A good plan in this place. "I should like to return to my lab before something explodes?"

Harry grinned at Malfoy again, wondering how much heat it would take to crack open that icy coating. "Got potions on the boil, Malfoy?"

Malfoy answered in a voice perhaps three degrees less icy than his last interjection. "I wasn't referring to my potions, Potter."

Harry decided to be heartened by this warming trend, and barrelled ahead. "Good. I want to take you to lunch."

Somehow, Malfoy's back went even more rigid. "Excuse me?"

Harry splayed himself against the counter again to show his shoulders off to their best, broad advantage. "No, I don't want to."

Malfoy placed an inventory sheet on top of the crated vials. Harry noticed his wand was now visible in his hand. "Mr Weasley, please check this against your order sheet and sign it. Mr Potter. I have no interest in eating at this time. With you or without you."

Harry's mouth reverted to twelve without first consulting his brain. "Why not, Malfoy? You scared?"

George started checking the inventory sheet against parchment he'd pulled from a drawer. He looked surprisingly calm as he poked through the vials and marked his two sheets.

Draco leveled a stare cold enough to ice Harry's pubic hair. "How old are you, Potter? That was… no. Besides, it's not even ten in the morning."

Harry noticed that he'd received his first real reaction and hoped he hid his sensation of accomplishment.

Ron looked over George's shoulder and nodded as George signed Malfoy's sheet. Amazing how those two could be such locker-room jokers one minute and all business the next.

"Brunch then. Coffee." He rolled his shoulders and stood up away from the counter to show off the three inches he'd grown since the war ended. Malfoy still had three or four inches on him, but at least it wasn't six anymore. "C'mon, handsome, come and eat. Or we could have coffee, instead? Your lab can wait, you said so yourself." Harry felt his cheeks prickling with warmth and took a deep breath and grinned for a moment to calm down and collect his cool. "I have a favour to ask, and I think you're going to want to say yes."

Shaking his head, George handed the sheet to Malfoy who took it with a glance and slipped it into an inner pocket.

"Handsome? Why is the most notorious womanizer in wizarding Britain calling me 'handsome?'"

Harry leaned in, grinning victoriously. This one he could handle. "Because I'm no straighter than your lacy pink knickers, Malfoy, and I'd like to get in them. Have coffee with me."

Malfoy stared at Harry again, probably watching as Harry's best 'confident face' went pink and hot under Malfoy's inscrutable scrutiny. When he finally spoke, he said only "Good day, gentlemen." Then he _Apparated_ away with a barely audible pop.

Harry slumped against the counter. "Shit." He raked a hand through his hair.

"Harry," Ron was standing next to him, stage-whispering. "What the fuck was _that_ all about?"

"I'll tell you later mate, I've got an idea. Gimme that order sheet, would you?"

Ron handed it over and Harry swore. "Crap. No address. You know where he is?"

Ron walked over to a drawer and riffled through it briefly, then pulled out a black rectangle that sparkled quietly. "Here's his business card, Harry. You know what you're doing?"

Harry grinned widely as he pocketed the card. "When do I ever?"

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"Er… I'd like the…." Harry stared at the profusion of flowers. The elderly witch behind the till was beaming at him.

"You'll surely be wanting roses, Mr Potter." She winked. "Have you chosen between those two pretty ladies?"

Harry turned away before he rolled his eyes helplessly against the tide of bullshit. "Don't believe everything you read, ma'am."

"Mr Potter?" she replied, clearly confused.

"I need something far more masculine, ma'am. A gift for a man. Something to court a _man_."

"Mr Potter? Are you… oh! You're doing this for a friend! Aren't you the kindest man!" She lowered her voice a few decibels to a mere cackle. Her grin got wider, which he would not have thought possible. "You're helping him hide! Did the treatments not work for him? Which of your heroic friends is a pervert, Mr Potter? I won't tell a soul!"

He looked her in the eye, pausing. He could go to a different vendor, surely? Not a magical one, perhaps, they were all horrendously homophobic in the wizarding world. Well, everyone over about thirty or forty, anyway. But there were Muggle flower shops.

"All, ma'am. Every single one of my heroic friends is homosexual. We're all buggering each other. Actually, that's how we defeated Voldemort."

She flinched, her smile cracking at the moniker. When he kept speaking it returned, but lopsided and uncertain.

"Rampant buggery, ma'am." He leaned in and winked. "That was our real secret. Homosexual Hogwarts love. That's the real secret to defeating madmen, and you can tell all your friends you heard it directly from me. Now—"

Her broken smile was slipping off her face speedily.

"—if you'll excuse me, I think I'd rather spend my money at the flower shop on the other side of the Leaky, where they won't be calling me names. Good day, ma'am."

He looked over his shoulder at her as he walked away. Since she was staring at him he tipped an imaginary hat. He'd rarely seen anyone look so lost. He'd probably have felt bad for her if he wasn't busy trying to recall about where that little gay-looking flower shop was that he'd seen sometime over the winter.

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Harry took quite the walk, peeking into the windows of several flower shops before finding one with a man behind the counter who looked like he would have good advice. The purple shirt gave it away through the window, but the man's swift but nonetheless frank appraisal of Harry's form as he walked through the door would have done nicely had the shirt been duller.

Harry didn't even open his mouth before the gayest voice he'd ever heard began to guess why he was there.

"Ooh," the clerk cooed. He came from around the counter and his astonishing shoes caught Harry's eyes. They were black leather, long and pointy, and had designs so intricate all along the sides that the word 'filigree' popped into Harry's head unannounced.

"Let me guess, love," he crooned. "She finally said yes and you need to bring her flowers to celebrate. Roses, then?"

Harry could _feel_ his face fall.

"Not you, too," he said, and found himself amazed at the flatness of his own voice.

Mr Fancy Shoes looked politely baffled. "I'm sorry?" he tried. His hands stretched out a bit and Harry saw he wore three ostentatious large rings.

"The entire world is conspiring to turn me straight today. If even you…"

"Oh!" Mr Fancy Shoes interrupted. "My gracious, I can't apologize enough!" He came closer, and his hands fluttered as he appraised Harry again. This time Harry stood still, feeling wry. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt the man's approval when this visibly broadened his shoulders. Mr Fancy Shoes let his weight flow to his other hip and indicated that Harry should twirl. Harry turned around slowly and showed the clerk the rest of his outfit and bearing.

"All right then," the man purred. "I see how I erred now, let me try again. Come on up to the counter and let me make this up to you, hmm?"

Harry turned again and watched as the man sashayed gracefully behind the counter, stepping up onto a short platform as he did. Mr Fancy Shoes now towered over Harry, bringing Draco Malfoy yet again to the front of Harry's mind. He looked closer and the man smiled, amused. Now that they were so close he could see that the fellow was a lot older than he looked from ten feet away. He probably had twenty years on Harry.

"You have grey eyes!" Harry blurted.

"I do indeed," the man agreed, and held out a limpish looking right hand.

Harry took it and was shocked by the strength of the man's shake.

"Winston T. James-King," he said. "_Do_ call me Winston." He let go of Harry's hand and impulsively, Harry looked down to check that his own had not gone red or misshapen. When he looked up, James-King was smiling at him mischievously.

"Welcome to my shop," Mr Fancy Shoes—Winston—continued, his hands floating about, and Harry reorganized his thoughts. Proprietor, not clerk. "I endeavor to assist every customer with their floral needs, and you'd be surprised at how much and yet how little those needs vary from person to person. Now," he narrowed his eyes a bit and cocked his head to the side, staring at Harry again. He put a finger to his lips and Harry realized they were rather full and soft looking. He'd not assessed Draco's lips. Were they soft looking? Would he get to find out if they were soft for real? He couldn't quite remember their colour.

"You are lost in _space_, honey. I have a lot more to work with now," his hands seemed to frame Harry for a moment, "so this is sort of cheating, but my guess is he turned you down and you're here to buy something to change his mind. Am I right this time?"

Harry laughed, relieved to have found someone so forthright and skilled.

"You've got it this time," he agreed. "Winston." The man smiled encouragement and Harry continued. "And one of the things he said when he turned me down was that he thought I was straight."

"Ah!" Winston interjected with a flourish of hands. "Thus, the dramatic reaction to my own gaffe!"

"That's… certainly a part of it," Harry agreed. No need to get into the whole damn _Witch Weekly_ mess with a Muggle.

"All right," the shiny man behind the counter said, sounding only slightly less flirtatious. "What do you know about this dreamboat?"

Harry paused. What the hell did he know? "Well," Harry started slowly, "he's tall and handsome and dresses very conservatively. He has grey eyes, too." Winston's smile nearly sparkled. "Truthfully though, handsome doesn't really cover it," Harry realized. "He's… he's actually beautiful. Gorgeous. His hair is really blond. Like, shines white in the sun, blond. And his skin is really pale. And those eyes? They're…"

Winston leaned over and leered, just a little, and Harry veered.

"Er, right. He's very attractive. Also, he owns his own small business. That's how I ran into him today. I was at a friend's shop joking around, and he came in to make a delivery."

"So you met him this morning?" Winston asked.

"No!" Harry corrected. "We went to public school together up north, in the Scottish highlands. We met almost fifteen years ago."

"Mm…" Winston's eyes softened. "Boarding school, then?"

Harry nodded and Winston's wink was devilish.

"All sorts of possibilities there!" His hands were swooping. "I…"

"Hey," Harry stopped him, a hand up. "Don't even try to—no. We _hated_ each other."

"Ahh," Winston smiled. "_Tension_." He gave another outsized wink and Harry found himself grinning.

"Yeah, you could say that!" Harry laughed and rested his arms on the high counter.

"So you've known him for years." Winston was leaning on the counter now, looking intent. "What else can you tell me about him? We want to pick just the right gift to overlay all that… _tension_." Winston winked a third time and Harry had to shake his head. This man was just _so gay_.

"I… er… he's rich. Or, rather, he grew up with wealth. Father didn't have an actual job, just played politics and managed the money and that sort of thing. But I think that's changed, now. Not really sure, to tell you the truth…"

Harry drifted off. Why _was_ Malfoy running his own potions company? He knew the Malfoy family had fines levied against them. Had they been so severe that Malfoy had to work? Was it for fun? Was it to earn respect?

"You've known him for fifteen years," Winston pushed.

"Er… yes. But… not well?"

Winston laughed. "Perhaps not," he agreed, with a wide smile, "but that doesn't mean you don't want to get to know him better."

"Right!" Harry agreed. "Exactly. Can you help me?"

"Well, you haven't told me much," his hands curved and swooped. "But it sounds like he might appreciate the finer things in life. Yes?"

Harry nodded, tracing a whorl in the countertop. "Yeah. He bragged about money a lot as a kid. He'd probably know if I'd spent a lot. I could do that."

"And I won't stop you!" Winston twittered. "But we can't just throw money at this." He threw his hands out, fingers spread. "Oh no. We must assume your dreamboat knows something about _quality_. Come with me, dear boy." Winston beckoned with an elegant finger. His fancy gold tiger ring glimmered. "I have a wee greenhouse back here. I have something you should see."

Winston grabbed a purple scarf decorated with gold swirls from a hook near a door and with a movement that looked utterly careless to Harry, tossed it so elegantly around his neck that Harry wanted to photograph him.

Harry wondered about the front door and the till, but decided that was Winston's problem. His shop, after all. There might be Muggle solutions to these things he didn't know about, too. He followed through the door into a small, cold passageway and then outside again. They stopped under a balcony where someone was apparently smoking.

"Edward, darling!" Winston called.

A handsome brown-haired man, around Harry's age as best Harry could tell, leaned over the edge. "Yes, love?" he answered.

"I have to take a customer into the greenhouse. Can you watch the door?"

The smoker stubbed out his cigarette and blew Winston a kiss. "Of course, my darling. And don't get up to anything interesting in the greenhouse, either." He winked in a blatant imitation of Winston's own outsized wink and Harry laughed quietly.

"Not without inviting you, darling!" Winston's hands swooped. His gestures got even larger outdoors, it seemed. The man on the balcony turned away and headed inside, and Winston gave Harry a warm, sweet smile. "My husband," he said. "Edward James-King."

"Husband?" Harry blurted. "I thought…"

"Oh, well." For the first time, Winston looked sour. "That's a term of affection, not a legal one. But we've done all we can. Even changing our names through the courts. Isn't James-King an elegant last name? I was King, he was James. And James will never be King again, as we all know!" He giggled and gestured a curved line between himself and Harry. "So the irony seemed fitting. But anyway, your own man awaits! To the greenhouse!"

They entered the greenhouse and Harry felt the heat immediately. "Don't need this jumper now, do I?" Winston said, pointing at the grey sleeveless vest he wore over his purple shirt.

Harry nodded and took off his light jacket and hung it over his arm. Winston pulled off his scarf but didn't touch his jumper or tie.

They walked down the one row toward the end. "There's an orchid here. All ready in a nice little silver pot. I can just wrap it up a bit, a nice bow…" he was muttering now, gesturing toward many and even caressing some of his flowers. Everything was gorgeous. Between the heat and the profusion of colour, it was a little overwhelming.

"Here!" With both hands Winston framed a tall, pale green bloom covered with pinkish-purple spots. It almost looked like a caress, though he did not touch the flower itself. It was the tallest of the blooms, but that pot held two stalks, one with three blooms, one with four. The flower's centre reminded Harry a bit of a snake's open, fanged mouth, and was mostly blood red.

"These are Imperial Splendour orchids," Winston explained.

"Oh!" Harry gasped. "The name! That's brilliant!"

"You think your man will like that?" Winston grinned. "I rather hoped." He winked _again_. "Unless…" he got a wicked little gleam in his eye and twirled in place, plucking a pot from the corner.

"Ahh!" Harry yelped. "No!"

Winston laughed loudly. "No anthurium, then?"

"That… that looks like a white cock in the middle of a red heart!" Harry felt himself blush. Winston might be awfully cosy with him, but he really didn't know the man well enough to talk that way. Especially about Winston's own flowers!

"Doesn't it?" Winston agreed, ignoring Harry's embarrassment. "The red petal is the spathe, and the white part is called the spadix. And see, some of the spadices are drooping, but some are more… eager to be seen?"

Indeed, some of the anthurium had erections a flower could be proud of, while some gave out _entirely_ the wrong message. And the things Winston was doing with his _hands_ to make his _points_!

Harry spoke right through his blush. "I think those Imperial Splendour orchids are a good choice. And I like the silver coloured pot, too. No wrapper, just a bow. Is it possible to have something sort of… masculine?"

Winston nodded and smiled. "Oh, yes. Edward is quite good at that."

Harry picked up the pot of orchids that most appealed to him, as Winston had three there all looking ready to go. "And I can carry it about outdoors? It doesn't need to be in a greenhouse?"

"He shouldn't plant them in front of his home in April, but he should be able to put them in a sunny window in his house, and they'll be fine outdoors for a few hours, even, should it take you that long to get them to him. Orchids are far hardier than they look."

"He is too, I think," Harry mused. He stroked a petal and it felt thick, substantial. He imagined stroking Draco's skin might yield similar results. He wondered if he had any chance of getting that close. He hoped the orchids would help.

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"Look, Draco," Harry was getting discouraged. He'd been leaning against the doorway of Draco's lab for a while now. "You _are_ interested in men, right?"

Draco glared at Harry like he was Peeves. Harry decided that was a 'yes.'

"So am I repulsive, then?" Harry crossed his arms defensively across his chest and saw Draco's eyes flick toward his shoulders for a microsecond. Damn. Draco would probably think Harry was trying to show off. Or maybe he _should_ show off…? Oh hell, this was complicated.

Draco rolled his eyes. This time Harry decided he shouldn't take that as any sort of answer and continued to look silently at him. Finally Draco rolled his eyes again. "The fucking saviour isn't repulsive, no. Look, you obviously won't leave unless I invite you in first. Wipe your damn feet on the mat and _touch nothing_, do you hear me? I remember the wrecks you used to make of Snape's classroom."

He swooped away from the door like a huge blue bird. Harry stared after him, forgetting to follow. How could he have thought Winston was graceful? Draco was…

"Well?" Draco asked, ten feet away and yet again glaring.

Draco was impatient, is what he was. Harry snapped to it. The orchid bobbed behind him obediently.

They walked through a laboratory and out again through a door in the back. It was small but full of natural light. The desk took up most of the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Harry recognized a few titles. Potions texts. Some of the other titles he didn't recognize seemed to be in Latin, or languages that used other alphabets, even. Was that one in Cyrillic?

Draco sat in the desk chair with a flourish, leaving Harry… a spot on the floor. Harry considered sitting defiantly in the middle of it, but levitated the orchid onto Draco's desk instead. "I think it will do nicely there," he decided. "Winston said an indoor window would work, and your office gets a lot of light."

Draco reached one set of fingertips upwards to a temple and rubbed briefly. "Potter, for pity's sake, why are you bringing me orchids?"

"Imperial Splendour orchids," Harry corrected, amused. "I went to rather a lot of flower shops before I found one that could really help me. I wonder if you'd like the gentleman who sold me those. A Muggle homosexual named Winston. I met his husband as well—"

Draco's eyes widened very, very briefly, but Harry noticed.

"Seemed like a lovely fellow. Edmund, I think he was."

"You haven't answered my question," Draco drawled. But there was a hint of a smile in his voice this time.

"I have several reasons for bringing you these lovely flowers," Harry obediently continued. He smiled. Not the smile the reporters loved, but the one they hated, because although it was far more genuine, it was too small for the paper and showed no teeth.

He hated knowing all of that, and that reminded him why he was here in the first place.

"First, you just ought to have them, don't you think? A name like that? Though they aren't as handsome as you are, because what could be?" Draco rolled his eyes again, but he no longer looked quite as impatient. "Second, because I needed an excuse to come here and bother you. After all, you turned me down quite thoroughly this morning. Surely a gentleman wouldn't ignore that and just show up empty handed?"

"A gentleman would take this gentleman at his word," Draco grumbled, but he looked slightly bemused around the eyes. His mouth was a firm line, but Harry hoped he'd seen a twitch there. Maybe even two.

"I'd like your help with something," Harry attempted. "I think the two of us might well both benefit." He decided to take a leaf from Winston's repertoire and winked. "Greatly."

"Oh… fine," Draco huffed. He pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it toward Harry's feet. Harry tried not to look startled, but when a chair materialized under him in that tiny space, he tumbled into it without dignity and knew he must have looked quite startled indeed.

"Ooof!" He whuffed in surprise, and looked up in time to see Draco wiping a smile off his face. "Ah hah!" Harry laughed. "So it's to be like that, is it? That's fine, Draco." He crossed an ankle over a knee and rested back in the chair. "That's fine," he repeated, and he smiled.

"Hurry up and tell me what you want from me, Potter," Draco said, and this time the smile was visible and audible both. Harry cracked a big grin.

"Sure, Draco, I can do that. Over lunch, all right? This room is too damn small and I'm hungry. Let me treat you to something delicious."

"Why are you so eager to feed me, Potter? Do I look too thin?"

"Naw," Harry said, standing and reaching out for Draco, who first vanished Harry's chair and then grasped Harry's hand only long enough to stand, forcing Harry backward slightly as he did. "I just want to watch you stick things in your mouth, is all."

"You filthy man," Draco murmured, but he was smiling.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427298/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"Er, I hope this is to your taste," Harry said nervously as he pulled a bottle-cap covered chair out for Draco in the otherwise empty back room of Luna's odd little Inverness diner. "Luna's food is _great_, really, but the atmosphere—"

"It's fine, Potter." Draco's smile was wry but unhidden. "I don't particularly want reporters involving themselves either. I understand."

"If I didn't have to worry about them—"

Draco stepped closer to both Harry and the chair. The table was too small, shaped and painted to resemble a radish.

"I'd have taken you somewhere very fancy."

Draco brushed against Harry's hands, arms and then chest as he pressed past and sat down.

"Dressed so nice, you should eat somewhere fancy. But Luna has this back room warded for privacy, and the Floo coordinates are quite private as well. Hardly anyone knows them, and—"

"It's really all right, Potter. I've eaten here before, though in the front room. Pansy is quite fond of this place."

"Really?" Harry said stupidly. Together he and Draco pushed Draco's chair in a bit and Harry looked down, wondering if he should touch Draco's shoulders. Probably not. He walked around to the other side of the little table.

"I thought I heard the bells chime!" Luna trilled, fluttering into the room in a ruffled, layered, pink and chartreuse outfit that the love child of Madonna and Stevie Nicks would have been proud to wear. Her trademark radish earrings matched the table better than they matched her clothes.

"Here are your menus, boys. Lovely to see you! Just tell the table what you want, and I'll bring it!" Two menus floated from Luna's retreating hands to the table and she was gone.

"How… unlike her." Harry mused, looking behind himself toward the door.

"Yes," Draco concurred. "She's usually all about the unsolicited advice."

"Um… yes," Harry agreed, and asked the table for shepherd's pie and a glass of pumpkin squash.

"Coq a vin and a glass of house Burgundy, please," Draco told the table after a longer pause. Their menus floated off toward a basket near the door Luna used.

Draco let the silence simmer until the menus were completely settled, then his patience apparently snapped. "So Potter, let's hear it." He pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry was caught for a moment admiring how this showed _Draco's_ shoulders off.

Draco cleared his throat almost silently.

"Right. Right! Sorry. Uh… I guess you saw the cover of _Witch Weekly_ this morning, then?"

"Of course," Draco laughed. "I take it that was, er… what's the word? Photo shaped?"

"Pretty much," Harry agreed, "I haven't danced with a woman since, uh… probably since Parvati married that guy, uh, I can't remember his name. Anyway, yeah. That photo was a complete fake. And when I saw you this morning, looking so completely riveting," Harry felt his chest warm and watched Draco toss his hair in embarrassment, but he wasn't sorry, "I had this sudden idea. I was hoping we could go out and be really visibly gay together, and just, you know, shut them up. Hopefully forever."

"You want me to help you tell the press you are homosexual?"

"Not exactly. I've come _out_ to the press. They don't care. They just make shit up now. I want you to help me use the press to come out to everyone else."

"An intriguing idea." Draco leaned back in his chair. "Why do you think it will work?"

"I figure if I make a big enough spectacle of myself, they won't be able to resist. And… like today. I'm just so sick of this." Harry shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and looked Draco in the eye, thinking his gaze had probably gone quite naked. "I went to buy you some flowers from this witch on Diagon Alley, and you would _not believe_…." He shook his head, remembering the fiery remarks he'd thrown at the flower vendor. "Well now actually, you probably would. You're my age and you're just as gay as I am, yes?"

Draco nodded, the fingers of one hand spread out on the table.

"So you know how it is." Harry took a sip of water and something came to mind. "Of course, it's probably worse for you, since they're always trying to give me 'the benefit of the doubt'! This vendor this morning just assumed, when I told her explicitly that I wanted flowers I could use to _court_ a _man_, she said" —Harry raised his voice to a squeak— "Oh Mr Potter! You're helping hide a friend! Which of your heroic friends is a filthy pervert?"

"Surely she did not," Draco interjected in a flat voice.

"Close enough," Harry grumbled. "It sounds like it's a little better for Muggles. The bloke I eventually purchased your orchids from lives and works openly with a man he calls his husband, though he told me that part is sort of a fiction. But he was so openly gay, Draco, and he makes a living running his own business…. I really envied them."

"Potter," Draco shook his head and put his other hand on the table, this time near Harry's. "Harry. While I understand what you're getting at here, and I am quite sympathetic, you're asking me to take an enormous risk. If there's backlash, who do you think it's going to lash out at? You?"

"Crap," Harry felt himself blush again. Bad day for that. How could he have forgotten to consider Draco's risk! "I hadn't thought of that. Crap. Well, of course George and Ron wouldn't buy any less from you. Would your other purchasers boycott you, do you think?"

"Well, it isn't just that I'm thinking of, but regarding business, Hogwarts is my other largest client. How do you think McGonagall will react?"

"McGonagall? Champion of underdogs and brave souls? I'd say she'll react positively. Hell, she'd order more from you than she needed, just to make sure you felt her support." Harry paused and straightened his spine, pushing back from the table slightly and looking Draco in the eye. Draco looked back at him, his face blank and waiting. "You know, we could be a two man force for destroying homophobia."

"Homo… what?"

"Muggle word. It means being scared of ponces."

"They have a word for it?" He raised an eyebrow momentarily, then lowered it, looking dismissive and tired. "Forget that. Obviously they do." He took his hands off the table and spread them out apologetically. "Potter, I don't know if I am ready to knock over the anthill like this. I could get hurt."

"Draco," Harry flirted, one side of his smile rising higher, forcing a confidence he didn't quite feel anymore, "don't you think this could be fun? Think about what I'm proposing. I suggest that you and I go out into the wizarding world and deliberately get seen and photographed and talked about, looking our very best, and having fun. You don't have to do more than hold my hand if you don't want, though I can promise you, I will be pushing for a lot more."

"It makes some sense, and it could be fun, I'll give you that. But… why me, Potter?"

"Are you kidding? You have a reputation I want to exploit and a body I want to explore." Harry paused a moment to preen internally at his own cleverness. That wasn't even planned in advance! "This is just a good excuse to get you to go out with me." Harry leered deliberately and Draco laughed very quietly. "And I'll do my level best to protect you, obviously. I'll have to, or the jig would be up immediately."

Draco rolled his eyes and laughed. "Your sense of romance knows no boundaries, sir."

"What do you say, Draco? Walk out through the front door with me? Stroll down Diagon Alley before you head back to work? I'm sure you don't love the press either. Help me throw them on their ear." Harry leaned forward and allowed some impatience and eagerness to enter his voice, hoping he wasn't overdoing it. "Let's teach those arses a lesson they'll not soon forget, won't you?" Harry reached across the table and took Draco's hand in his own to push his point. Draco looked down as Harry entwined their fingers. Harry could feel sparks down his arm and up his spine. He grinned at Draco, who looked up at him and stroked one of Harry's fingers as he blushed the slightest, barest pink.

"I'll think about it," he promised, slowly releasing Harry's hand as Luna came through the door with their food and a lopsided smile.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427368/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"Winston!" Harry pushed through the door but his new friend wasn't visible. "Winston?"

Something silvery emerged from a back corner and it took Harry a moment to realize… that was the lapel of Winston's suit jacket. Today he wore a deep grey suit with silver lapels and a silver tie. His face was all business, even including his polite smile. He looked so fancy Harry blinked.

"Can I help y— oh! Harry! Well?" Winston's hands swooped out and around and up. His face transformed and became warm, the grin open and real. "Did he say yes?"

"He went out to lunch with me on Friday, but now he's 'thinking about' going out with me again. He 'thought about it' all weekend and didn't contact me once! I need more help. I need an excuse to stop by and remind him of our 'tension'. Help?"

Winston winked. "_Tension_, hm. Time for the anthurium?"

Harry straightened his spine and backed away half a step, both hands up. "Er, not yet!"

Winston's laughter pealed like a handful of bells. "All right, all right! Let an old poofter have his jokes, now, won't you? Here," his smile dimmed down to normal levels and he beckoned Harry toward a refrigerated case in a sunny corner near the window. "Let's go with a bouquet this time, I think. To remind him of how fleeting things can be, so he'll pounce now and stop making you wait, all right?"

"I like it," Harry agreed, and smiled at the black and purple tulips in the vase on the bottom of the case.

"Good choice, those." Winston nodded toward the tulips. "I have more in the back. And good choice on not shaving this morning as well. The dark stubble quite suits. Very manly. How many do you want?"

"I'll take seven tulips," Harry decided. "Can you make them all that really dark purple? And thanks for the compliment. I was hoping you'd mention it. I really wasn't sure."

Winston nodded and counted out seven stalks, stepping out of the case backwards towards his counter. "It does look good. As for the flowers, they are actually all purple," he said conversationally as he worked. "There is no such thing as a truly black tulip yet, but these are remarkably close, aren't they?"

Harry watched him, nodding silent agreement. He'd really thought some of those tulips _were_ black. Then as Winston turned again to face him, Harry blurted out a question he hadn't realized he was wondering. "Hey Winston, how did you and Edwin meet?"

"Edward, dear," Winston laughed. "Do these look good, or do you want some baby's breath as well?"

"They're perfect just like that," Harry approved. "Dark and beautiful. And I'm sorry I got his name wrong."

Winston waved at Harry as though it were nothing. Then he looked Harry in the eye for a moment, uncharacteristically still. "It's not a story I tell round the Christmas goose, if you catch my meaning, dear boy."

Harry nodded, more curious now, and watched as Winston deftly began fetching the powdered plant food, beautifying the stems further with the greens and tissue, wrapping the bouquet in plastic, and finishing with a dark purple ribbon, tied with an elegant knot, no bow.

"Edward and I… well, this is a bit risqué, but…" Winston looked around and lowered his voice. "We were attempting to hire the same rent boy."

"What?" Harry blurted, before he could shut himself up.

"It's true," Winston's smile opened his whole face. "Long story short, we went home together instead. Of course I believed it was a one off. Hell, the next morning I had to go through his wallet while he showered in order to recall his name! Now it's a joke between us, but he used to go by Eddie, and his driver's license called him Edward, and I called him Edward when he came out of the shower…."

"Holy shit," Harry laughed through his hand before giving up and putting it back on the counter. "That must have been awkward."

"Doesn't really cover it!" Winston's hands danced through the air. "And I can hardly believe I'm telling you this, but I must say, you have the most trustworthy mien… at any rate, my dear boy, if there is anything to learn from the way my Edward and I met, it's that it is the relationship that matters. Not the way it started!"

He finished fluffing the tissue paper and handed the flowers over to Harry to inspect. "What you wanted for your man, my dear?"

"Yes," Harry said, smiling at the perfect blooms. "How much do I owe you?"

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4545793715/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"Knock, knock," Harry said into the air. He leaned against the doorway of Draco's office, tulips in hand, pleased (surprised) that no locks or wards had seen fit to block his access so far.

Draco pushed his chair away from his desk and twisted around to look over his shoulder at Harry. "What the hell are you doing here, Harry?" He sounded bemused, thank Merlin.

Harry held the tulips out into the room, as though to see if they might keel over in their canary-cage. "Brought you flowers?" he accidentally asked. Dammit, he'd intended to sound _confident_.

"It does look that way, yes." Draco agreed. He almost sounded snide.

_Let that tone have been amused,_ Harry hoped.

Draco stood up and turned, but sat on the edge of his desk, not taking the flowers.

"Er, right," Harry blustered. "My inner Gryffindor has clearly abandoned me. Lemme try this again." He pulled in the flowers and made a little show of attempting, and failing, to neaten his hair. He straightened the front of his jacket and messed with the tissue paper and poked at the purple ribbon.

Draco smirked at him.

Then Harry stood up straight, put the flowers in front of his chest, ribbon tie pointing at Draco, and tried again. "Oh good! Draco, you're here. May I come in? I brought you some flowers." He gave Draco a big face-cracking grin and stood there expectantly.

Draco put his face in his hands for a moment and let his shoulders visibly shake. "Oh for… yes," he looked up again and his smile looked no more than medium-sized but nonetheless real, inviting. He waved Harry in. "Come in, you huge dork."

Harry stepped in and flourished the flowers at Draco. "Other parts of me are outsized as well," he said, and gave a Winston-wink. "I could show you some time, if you're curious."

Draco crossed his arms across his conservative navy robes and ignored the flowers, which Harry did not lower. "You're not going to give up. Are you." He didn't inflect it as a question.

"A prize like you?" Harry agreed. "Come out for a walk with me, Draco. Let's go shock some old ladies."

Draco put a hand over his heart and looked _most_ affronted. "Horrify old ladies? What sort of hero are you?"

"One who's trying to quit," Harry half growled. He levitated the flowers over Draco's desk and—seeing nowhere to put them—transfigured a ball point pen he found in his jacket pocket into a long, thin, indigo glass vase. With a clip-like shape on one side. Oh well. _The flowers will still fit in there_, he thought, and dropped them in with a wand movement to prove it.

"C'mon, handsome," Harry said, one hand extended. "You look like you work too hard. Come play with me."

Draco looked at the hand for far longer than Harry liked, but he didn't drop it, he didn't back away, and he didn't leave. He pretended thirty seconds was three and sixty seconds was six and ninety seconds was nine and finally, _finally_, Draco muttered "Fuck it," and stood up, pulling his arse away from his desk. Draco took Harry's hand and Harry felt those incredible tingles again.

Harry thought about pulling that hand until he'd reeled Draco in, close enough for a kiss, but Draco turned toward the flowers and extracted his hand quite gently as he turned. "They are lovely flowers," he said low and appreciative. "It would be a pity if we let them wilt while we walked."

He pulled his wand out of an inner pocket and the flowers from the vase, and with an almost silent _Aguamenti_ filled the vase two thirds full. Then he carefully pulled the ribbon and tissue from the flowers, poured the plant food into the water, and placed the blooms back into the vase by hand, wand in hand but ignored. Finally he spoke to Harry again. "They really are quite striking."

Harry stepped closer to Draco and reached out to stroke one petal. "I thought of you as soon as Winston showed them to me."

Draco turned to look at Harry, and Harry didn't back away. They were standing so close now, facing each other. Harry could feel his chest heating, his cheeks burning, his hands turning cold. _Fuck,_ but Winston was right. _Tension._

"Why is that?" Draco murmured, soft as a petal.

"They're so dark," Harry said, not much more than a whisper, overwhelmed with how far in over his head he realized he'd gone. "Dark, beautiful, and perfect." Draco smiled very slightly, and Harry reached up with his left hand, put his fingers under Draco's hair, and pulled Draco's neck toward his own lips, just a very… slight… tug.

Resisting, Draco got no closer, but he did reach out toward Harry's face. "You are a strange man, Potter," he whispered, dragging one fingertip down Harry's stubbled cheek.

"Ungh…" Harry groaned, needing more than he had, more than he could have, he feared, and took charge of Draco's head by grabbing the hair at the base of his neck and pulling. Their lips crashed together and Harry heard his wand hit the floor as he let go to push the fingers of his right hand into the short hair over Draco's left ear.

For a few cock-firming moments they fought for dominance until Harry realized he was being a moron and let Draco take over. Draco's tongue explored Harry's mouth leisurely, and Harry held on to Draco's hair with one hand and Draco's shoulder with the other.

"Unh…" Harry managed when Draco began to explore his neck roughly, teeth very much in evidence. "I… ohh…." The diamond earring winked at him in the light, very visible again, as Draco had bent to taste Harry's bristly neck. How could a man have such pretty ears?

"So fucking pretty," Harry murmured without thinking. He regretted it only when Draco pulled away. Harry tried to follow and soon found himself at the ends of Draco's half-outstretched arms. He pouted and Draco laughed at him gently.

"I accept your offer," Draco said formally, and all Harry could think was _then why aren't we kissing?_

Then Harry's brain caught up with his libido. "You do?" He smiled and reached for Draco's hand. Draco accepted, wrapping his fingers around Harry's palm and curling slightly over to the back of Harry's hand. Harry's nerves started to jangle and he took a deep breath. _Confidence!_ he admonished himself and squeezed Draco's hand a bit. "Of course you do, you said so before. Do you want to close up shop? Or change into casual robes?"

Draco squeezed back then let go and moved toward the door. "Good ideas," he agreed. "Let me meet you outside, by my front door."

"Yeah…" Harry agreed. But he reached out for a last kiss nonetheless. Draco pulled back slightly and Harry grabbed his shoulder. "Just one kiss, I swear…."

Draco did not grant it. Harry found himself half pressed against the doorway. One shoulder pressed too hard against the jamb, one braced against empty air. Draco shoved in closer and Harry canted his hips toward the other man, who used both hands to press Harry against the wood, but came no closer.

"Now, now," he chided Harry. "Let's save it for the press, shall we?"

Harry just stared, past words and longing for that kiss. His head was filled with thoughts of nothing but Draco, cocks, and comfortable (private!) beds. Harry was hard as a rock, and he longed for a taste of Draco's lips, the touch of his hands on Harry, his own velvet iron.

Draco stepped forward and stood next to Harry's side. He still pressed Harry against the doorjamb and there was a teasing look on his face, and control written all over him. He whispered into Harry's neck. "Go wait outside, foolish Gryffindor." Then with a slight wand movement, Draco popped away. Without Draco to hold his torso up against the doorway, Harry stumbled forward.

After grabbing his wand off the floor, Harry charmed his cock back down from "raging" and meandered through Draco's lab, looking around and making sure to touch nothing. A crazy thought occurred to him and he put his hands behind his back, one in each pocket. Then he thought about his elbows, pulled his hands out and clasped them behind his bum, feeling oddly demure. "See?" He said out loud. "Not touching anything, Draco."

He was rewarded with soft laughter that seemed to emanate from the ceiling. "Get the hell outside, Mr Hero. I promise, I'll be there after I change into something more suitable."

Harry nonetheless took his time exploring the lab. Draco only had three cauldrons full of potion. One hot, orange liquid was bubbling under what Harry guessed to be some sort of _Simmer_ charm he didn't know. It smelled like pepper-up. The other two were full of potions that appeared to be cooling off. One was a transparent greenish colour that reminded Harry of the orchids he'd brought the other morning. The other was a thick purple glop, but it smelled marvellous. Harry couldn't place the scent, but the stuff looked edible to him somehow and he made a mental note to ask Draco what the hell the goo was.

Harry wondered if he should do something to attempt to lock the door behind him as he walked out of the lab, then through, and out of, the little front room Draco didn't seem to use for anything. Then he was outside and all he'd done was close the door behind him, but when he tried it, to see if maybe the polite thing to do was ward it himself, the handle gave his fingers a little jolt and he released it immediately, chuckling under his breath. This _was_ Draco Malfoy he was dancing with, he reminded himself. The man could surely take care of himself.

That reminded him of Draco's potential risks in this enterprise, and he considered that; leaning up against the brick wall next to the front door of Draco's little business. Was he asking too much? Were he and Draco biting off more than they could chew? Would the British magical public freak out? Retaliate? Would the press?

Harry half wished he could light up a cigarette, futz with a mobile or jingle a set of keys. Disadvantage of wizard life number one hundred twelve: nothing to fidget with (other than the wand; dangerous choice, that.) What was taking Draco so fucking long?

He pulled one leg up to rest a foot on the wall, hoping he would look casual and cool. Maybe he should pop home first and put on something a little handsomer? This was hardly his best shirt. But no, Draco had been up there dressing for at least ten minutes. He'd never get back in time. Especially because he couldn't guess what shirt to wear instead. Thank fuck he'd showered thoroughly this morning.

Harry switched to the other foot.

Which brought to mind the question of where the hell they should go. Diagon Alley? Hogsmeade? They needed to decide before they went anywhere, but it ought to be public. And they needed to decide beforehand how they would handle any negative or even angry strangers.

Harry rubbed an itch in the middle of his back against the brick wall. It mostly worked. Harry suspected the tickle in his skin came more from nervous energy than anything real scratching would get rid of it. Unless Draco offered to scratch… he deliberately moved his brain away from that image. He'd charmed away one inconvenient erection just a few minutes before. He had no interest in doing that again any time soon. It was uncomfortable and he should have better control at this age.

He huffed with impatience at himself and thought about this afternoon. Maybe they should have an early dinner at Luna's café? Or the Leaky… or a late lunch, actually... unless they strolled around for an hour or so before. And that left the 'where' question wide open, obviously.

Harry huffed his impatience and put both feet on the ground. Speaking of which, where the hell was Draco?

They could go to the Ministry. An odd place to go on a 'date' but it would certainly get them some attention. But they would need an excuse, which would mean "dropping in on a friend." Crap, who was the person they knew best who worked at the Ministry? Harry was in there frequently making appeals to politicians and elders on the Snorphanage's behalf. And Neville was an Auror now, but…

"There you are."

Harry startled.

"Sorry," he started, turning. "I was just…" he stopped speaking and looked at Draco. He'd changed out of his conservative navy curtain and put on tight denims and a long sleeved henley that was exactly the same colour as his eyes. The damn shirt was so form-fitting (and the form beneath appeared so firm) that Harry's erection started to return. Holy fuck, Draco hadn't looked like this in school. Or even this morning. _Confidence…_ Harry told himself weakly, but feared he might be drooling. He wiped at his chin before he could think.

Draco leaned one hand against the brick wall and smirked at him.

_This will not do,_ Harry decided and let his eyes take a lazy, appreciative tour of Draco's unveiling. He hoped he hid his swallow before lifting a slow hand, making a little twirling motion in the air. "Go on with you," he ordered. "Let's see all the angles."

Draco raised one eyebrow derisively but moved away from the wall and waltzed in a slow rotation. Then he stepped closer to Harry, stopping—Harry was fairly certain—mere millimetres out of arm's reach.

"Does the outfit meet with your approval, Mr Potter?"

"Oh," Harry managed to drawl, "I suppose." He smiled. "Any thoughts on where we should go first?"

Genuine surprise actually flickered over Draco's face, before practiced disdain settled there again. "Clearly," he snarked, "we should start back at Weasley's Wheezes. We need to inform them of your… plan. I assume you haven't yet?"

Harry gave Draco a genuine smile. "Brilliant," he agreed pleasantly. "We do, and I have not." He put an arm out with what he hoped was clear body language and indeed, Draco stepped closer and nodded a bit as he linked their elbows for a side-along. Grinning wickedly, Harry step-twisted directly into Draco's chest in order to _Apparate_. The last thing he saw before he sucked them both into nothingness was Draco's bare-faced surprise.

They arrived in the back room, near the Floo, and Ron appeared in the doorway with an armful of small boxes towering precariously all the way to his eyebrows.

"Hey, Harry," he said calmly, and turning away, levitated the boxes onto the table under the window.

"Hey, Ron," Harry replied. "Malfoy's here, too."

"Hey, Malfoy," Ron said agreeably, and finished organizing the tiny boxes. There was a blue pile, a fuchsia pile, and a red pile. They made Harry's eyes hurt a little. "What's up, gents?" Ron asked, then he turned around. When he saw Draco's casual clothing, he laughed. "Holy shit, Malfoy. Not here for work, then?"

Ron leaned his backside against the table, palms beside him, resting on the edge. Harry watched the red pile wobble.

"No." Draco agreed, nonetheless standing up as broomstick-rigid as he had that morning. "Not for work. Harry?" he said, turning to Harry and smiling sweetly. "Won't you please explain?"

Harry smiled back, but his smile—he hoped—wasn't sweet at all. He took Draco's hand in his own, and Draco only hesitated for a moment before clasping back. Then Harry turned to Ron and noted that Ron was looking at their hands and had raised an eyebrow of his own.

"I want to stick it to the wizarding press, is all, and Draco's going to help me."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron said noncommittally. Then he yelped: "George! Oi! Get in here for a mo!"

"Hold yer damn hippogriffs!" George yelled back, and walked in, wiping his hands on his heavy canvas apron. "Wotcher, Harry? Malfoy? What's with the hands? And what the hell happened to the side of your neck there, Harry?"

"Er," Harry began, caught slightly off guard despite knowing better. He put up a hand to the hickey he'd not known Draco had given him. "It's about, er… see Draco and I are going to go out and make the news."

"On purpose?" George replied, looking horrified. "You?" Then he stopped for a moment and just looked at them. "Oh.. you _two_. Make a scene on purpose for once, huh?"

Harry nodded and saw Draco nodding next to him. He stroked his thumb slowly along the back of Draco's hand. Draco did not react, so Harry shifted his feet and then kept stroking, determined not to be frightened away from this.

"How'r you gonna keep them from photoshopping it into whatever the hell they want?"

Harry sighed. "How can I? I can only hope that this will seem scandalous enough so they won't want to." Harry squeezed Draco's hand involuntarily. The closer they got to this, the less certain he felt about it, but he was more than committed now.

"Sure," George said, nodding slowly. "He's a good choice for that, then," George continued, nodding at Draco. "Didn't peg you as the type, Malfoy," he said mildly.

Draco opened his mouth but George ignored him and kept talking. "I assume you came here first to protect your business interests with Wheezes. Good plan. I'd like to double this week's order of fizzy lifting drinks, and double, no… triple. You'd better triple my… hey Ron," he interrupted himself and turned to his brother. "What's that stuff Malfoy isn't making near enough of? We were talking about it this morning after he left. Said we'd at least double the order?"

Ron looked at the ceiling for a moment, then snapped his fingers and smiled at George. "Hilarity tincture."

"Right!" George agreed happily and turned back to Draco and Harry. "Can you do those increases, Malfoy?"

"Yes, I can," Draco said, somewhat less stiffly. "That won't be difficult at all. Friday morning still a good day for delivery?"

"Oh, sure," Ron said. George nodded.

Harry stroked Draco's hand once more, and this time Draco squeezed back, then let go and gestured with both hands at Ron and George.

"Didn't you say a fortnight ago," Malfoy said, taking a half step closer to Ron, "that you might need more of the liquid woolybear envelopes?"

Harry tipped his head slightly. Liquid what-the-fuck? He'd ask about that later, if he remembered.

George laughed and Ron smiled. "Yeah," Ron agreed. "We were at three dozen a week, weren't we?"

Draco smiled, looking even more relaxed now.

"Make it four dozen next week, would you?"

"Of course," Draco said, and dropped his hands to his sides. Then he turned just enough to look at Harry and held out a hand, which Harry took, hoping his smile looked more relaxed than he felt, even as a shiver of nervousness made its unwelcome way into his neck.

"Mr Potter and I have some business with the press," he said, looking Harry in the eye. "And I think it might be time. Harry?"

Harry nodded at him, and stepped closer, wondering how Ron and George had come to trust Draco, and how much longer it would be before he and Draco were kissing again.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427450/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Harry enjoyed shaking hands with Ron and George as they left the back room, waving to the new employee at the front counter, and being thoroughly ignored by the gaggle of ten year old boys trying not to be noticed by any adults as they perused some of George and Ron's more dangerous merchandise. He was suddenly feeling stupidly optimistic and an outsized happiness was bubbling up through his chest. It had been a long time since he'd had something "to do" that involved people outside the Snorphanage. The good mood was a surprise, but he was nonetheless happy to run with it. It felt brilliant.

He took Draco's hand once again as they approached the front door. He could see Diagon Alley and realized again that he wasn't sure about the public display aspects of this. He was attracted to Draco, that was clear. He definitely never wanted to see a faked photo of himself on a cover of anything, ever again. That he was certain of as well. But this half-baked, half-cocked plan of his… what risks were he and Draco taking? With their safety, their friendships, Draco's livelihood, their…

"So Harry," Draco murmured quietly. Harry's cock noticed the vaguely husky tone. "Are you ready to turn some heads?"

"Fuck yes," Harry agreed, turning to look at Draco, who was still looking through the door at Diagon Alley. His ear was _right there_ and Harry decided at the last minute that it was Draco's job to be sexually aggressive in public, but he nonetheless blew a bit of warm air at the pretty ear he would have preferred to nibble.

"Good," Draco said smugly, and opened the door.

It took half of Diagon Alley before anyone noticed them: two handsome young men strolling down the street in denims, hand in hand. Or rather, it took half of Diagon Alley before anyone realized it wasn't just two disgusting ponces—men to be shunned and ignored—but Harry Potter and oh-Merlin's-toast-is-that-Malfoy?

By the time the first little old man sneered at them with deep disapproval, Harry was starting to get into the stroll and the window shopping. He'd even taken a touch of vindictive delight in waving hello at the woman he'd tried to buy flowers from the week before.

But by the time they attracted their first actual heckler, Harry was starting to wonder when he'd become invisible. It was practically a relief when they heard someone shout at them. "What the hell are you doing? Go back to the pretty blonde witches, Harry Potter!"

First Draco, then Harry stopped walking. Harry turned toward the matronly witch in sensible grey flannel robes. "This is the sort of pretty blond I'm looking for, ma'am," he said, feeling remarkably polite and calm. He could do this. "Lemme prove it," he said loud enough to carry ten people deep into the forming crowd, and pushed Draco toward the nearest wall. "I'm thinking I'm the aggressive bottom at a moment like this," he said very quietly to Draco as he pressed the man backwards. "And I'd prefer to shield you with my body."

"Mm," Draco agreed, and when he hit the wall he opened his legs just enough to fit Harry cozily between. This also made him slightly shorter, which Harry took immediate advantage of. He reached up and put his hands into Draco's short hair, and smiled happily into Draco's face. Draco was _looking_ relaxed, but Harry saw he actually had his wand in hand. His other hand was caressing around Harry's waist toward his bum. Harry went for Malfoy's lips.

"Been imagining this," he confessed as he got close, and Draco responded only by reaching the rest of the way around and teasing the top of Harry's rear with his fingertips.

"Ah!" Harry reacted helplessly, and touched his open lips to Draco's smiling ones. When their burgeoning erections started to press together through their clothing, Harry realized he must have pushed his pelvis against Draco's. It was probably too forward but it felt so fucking good he decided he didn't care to stop.

They got enthusiastic so fast that Harry didn't much register the first camera flash, and the angry epithets and disapproving clucks and mumbles were very easy to ignore. But something about the distinctly youthful voice curling around a "holy shit" caught Harry's attention, and he turned to see a bloke who looked young enough to still be at Hogwarts gaping at the two of them with naked awe, envy and shock on his face.

Harry smiled happily at him, leaning his face against the very top of Draco's chest. When Draco started to speak, Harry felt his entire chest rumble.

"Ms Skeeter," Draco drawled aristocratically, "what a pleasant surprise."

Harry attempted to hide his triumphant grin. That was faster than he'd anticipated, but you had to give Skeeter credit. She really had a nose for tabloid worthy scenes. He cringed as the flash went off again, blinding him for a moment, then blatantly arranged himself facing forward, sprawled against Draco's chest like a corsage.

"Indeed, Ms Skeeter," he continued. "We've been expecting you."

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427368/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"So," Harry laughed, hearing the triumph in his own voice, "I think that went well."

"I agree," Draco said, turning to face Harry and moving a step away as he started to speak. "It seemed to be just what you were hoping for."

Harry stepped closer and Draco backed into the doorway of his shop. "I should get back to work," Draco said formally.

"Oh?" Harry questioned, attempting to sound flirtatious.

"Yes," Draco said with finality. "Owl me if you'd like to plan another… outing." He opened the door and stepped backwards. "Oh," he started, and Harry felt himself step forward before he thought. "Pepper up, hilarity tincture and the purple one is hand cream. I'm attempting to start a new line of products." He winked at Harry and then shut the door in his face.

Harry stared at the door for what felt like long minutes until he realized that Draco would surely know he was standing there, gaping like a dying fish. He almost tried the door handle until he remembered the shock he'd received the last time, and raised his wand to go home. It had been one hell of a day. He could regroup and take this slow.

When he popped into his kitchen, however, his house felt uncharacteristically empty and quiet. "Well, fuck," he said out loud, and leaned against the counter. "_Accio_ beer," he said, wand out, and a bottle flew into his hand. It was only three in the afternoon, and he had no plans. He removed the cap and began to enjoy his beer.

He could certainly write to McGonagall and do for Draco in a letter what they'd done with Wheezes in person, but… he really didn't feel like it right now.

"Hurmph," Harry mumbled into the bottle neck. "Pfft." He took another long pull. Then he wandered into his front room and looked out the windows into the clear blue sky. He lifted his chin and saw three small clouds, the top of his favourite oak, and a lone hawk. He gulped down the rest of his beer and put the brown bottle down on the window sill. "_Accio_ broom!" he yelled with enthusiasm, and his Quantum Leap rose from its storage hook in the mud room and floated gracefully toward his outstretched hand.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*2010*b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

It started as an ordinary morning. He woke naked, warm and alone. The early morning sunlight was rendered elegantly hazy and indistinct by his floor length indigo curtains. His bladder was full but his cock was half hard. He'd been dreaming about… well, he'd definitely been dreaming about Draco, but nothing else about the dream remained. He was toying with his cock, sleepily debating between wanking and getting up to piss, when his wand started to buzz and he grumbled aloud. _What do I need to do today?_, he whinged in his head. _Why should I have to get out of bed?_ His bladder reminded him and groaning, he stumbled to the toilet and pissed, scowling at the white porcelain.

He scratched his balls and stretched like a grumpy cat. He cleaned his hands and his teeth and threw on a dressing gown, putting his wand in the pocket. Yawning again, he debated returning to bed, but then remembered Skeeter and decided he really was curious about what she'd mangled yesterday into.

Rolling his eyes, he declared himself lazy and walked down the stairs. He started the tea kettle, scrambled three eggs and fried a dodgy looking tomato half on the stove; then toasted the last slice—before the heel, which he saved for the post owl—of pumpkin seed wholemeal with his wand. _Best buy bread today,_ he thought as he made the tea. He chose Earl Grey, then stood in the window, enjoying the sun and awaiting Pepper and _The Prophet_ while he scooped eggs and perfectly decent tomato thank-you-very-much into his mouth with a fork he'd found at the very back of the drawer. Time to do the damn dishes.

He was forking up the last bite of egg when Pepper appeared—tiny with distance—in the corner of the window. He opened it, watching her fly closer. Damn he loved that broad, open view. The day was getting warm and Harry decided to leave the window open for a while. Pepper settled on the back of the chair he'd not bothered to sit in and he took one copy of the newspaper from her leg and offered her the bread heel. She hooted appreciatively and ate the whole thing before nudging her head at his wrist like a cat.

Harry hummed a chuckle as he petted her briefly. He and Draco weren't on the front page and Pepper was more important than rushing through the tripe inside to find an article he knew would piss him off.

But while Pepper was winging away to a neighbour a minute later, Harry sat in the chair she'd been perching on and spread out the paper.

Mindful of what he was looking for, he swallowed his mouthful of tea and put the cup down before he opened the first page.

He found it immediately. There was a rather … intense photograph of him snogging the very tonsils out of Draco, and—deliberately covering the article below with his dirty breakfast plate—he just looked at it for a while. He was pretty sure _The Prophet_ had clumsied out some hip motion with their own copy of Photoshop. Both his and Draco's lower bodies looked unnaturally rigid. The hickey had also been removed from his neck quite clumsily, leaving behind a patch of blank page that looked wrong. The _Witch Weekly_ staff apparently had a lot more practice with the software.

Otherwise it was still one hell of a photo. Draco's hands were completely still, but nonetheless they cupped Harry's arse cheeks in a way that heated Harry's other cheeks just to see. _Merlin,_ he thought to himself. _We were in **public**!_ Then he rolled his eyes at the Petunia Dursley who apparently still resided somewhere in his psyche and focused on the photo again.

Something about the way they were both curled into one another: Harry sheltering Draco from the crowd; Draco curving down and around Harry equally protectively and suggestively, warmed Harry inside in a strange way. He watched his own hands reach into the soft blond hair at the vulnerable curve of neck at the base of Draco's skull, then took a slow, smiling moment to appreciate what he could see of the curve of Draco's arse and right hip.

He wondered if he could ask _The Prophet_ for a copy of the original. That was a brilliant idea, actually. He and Draco should stroll in there, hand in hand and sweetly request a copy of the photo….

But really, it was time to read the fucking article. Harry took a slow, deliberate sip of tea, put his plate to the side, and started to read.

  
  
  


>   
>   
> **Hero Harry's Attention-Seeking Actions a Huge Howl for Help**  
> 
> 
> Wednesday, April 16, 2003  
>  Rita Skeeter
> 
> Yesterday dozens of upstanding shoppers, businessmen and other innocent citizens enjoying the lovely weather on Diagon Alley were accosted with the shocking sight of our favourite Dark Lord Slayer nuzzling with notorious potion peddler and bad boy, Draco Malfoy.
> 
> We have speculated many times in these venerable pages that our beloved Mr Potter's failure to join the Auror programme, or any other useful line of work (not to denigrate his achievements with the Fred Weasley Memorial Snorphanage, but we all know that marvellous institution is actually run by Mrs Hermione Granger-Davies and Miss Ginevra Weasley), has led to many frivolous and even airy-fairy choices in the last few years.
> 
> We have exhorted the reading public to assist Mr Potter find a meaningful profession and a nice witch with whom to settle down.
> 
> This reporter is certain that the reading public will remember the write-in campaign to Miss Weasley that somehow failed to convince her to take Mr Potter back and marry him!
> 
> But Mr Potter has now reached an all time low in regards to his attention seeking, needy, desperate cries for love and media coverage. To go dancing with two tarty blondes on Thursday night and then snog another man on Diagon Alley Tuesday afternoon is a clear cry for help. And it is _our_ responsibility, dear Readers, to provide that help! We must band together and find our own Hero a good wife.
> 
> Clearly Miss Weasley has shirked her responsibility in this matter, but we call upon all innocent young witches between seventeen and thirty to write Mr Potter and exhort—even entice—him to date! What red blooded young wizard can resist the temptation of a sweet young witch in modest attire and radiating a demure smile?
> 
> Send your stories, snapshots, and copies of the letters you write to Mr Potter here, care of Rita Skeeter. We will stay on this story and chronicle our success. And when Mr Potter announces his engagement to one of _you_, dear (feminine) readers, you shall learn about it first right here in the pages of _The Daily Prophet_!

  
|   
---|---  
  
Harry read the article through very quickly at first, then he read it again carefully. Somehow Skeeter never failed to either surprise or anger him. This was her response to him snogging with Draco on Diagon Alley? _This?_ What the hell did he do now? He stared unseeing at the newspaper for a long moment, not realizing that he was crushing a corner of it in one fist and a napkin in the other. Then he smiled and stood, pushing his chair away from the table and leaving the dishes and newspaper where they lay.

He sat on the floor in front of his Floo, a handful of powder in his hand, and realized Draco might not be at work yet and he had no idea of the Floo address where Draco actually lived. He'd changed upstairs from the lab the day before. Did that mean he lived up there? Ah well, he would just try. Maybe Draco was at work. It was nearly nine, after all.

After Harry tossed the powder in the fire and called out "Malfoy Apothecary and Potion Supply!" he realized perhaps he should have dressed or even simply combed his hair before contacting Draco at work. For a long moment the fire burned green, silent and empty and Harry thought he might have a reprieve, but as he raised his wand to close the connection, Draco's face appeared in the fire.

"Well," Draco drawled, looking Harry up and down. "Don't you look… relaxed."

Harry plastered what he hoped looked like confidence on his face and gestured toward the crumpled newspaper he'd abandoned on the table behind him. "Seen Skeeter's 'article' yet?" he asked. "I had an idea about what we could do next."

Draco gave him a wry look. "You're lucky I heard the Floo activate," he drawled. "I thought I told you to owl."

Harry didn't want to go into the owl situation, so he just grinned. Draco rolled his eyes. "Come down to the _Prophet_ office with me," he tried. "I think I need a copy of that photo they took of us."

Harry hoped that the new look in Draco's eyes was regard, but the man didn't speak and he wasn't sure. _Confidence_, he thought. _Tension_. "Can I pick you up in two hours?" he tried.

Draco sighed heavily. Harry thought it sounded a bit fake, but he waited, smile in place. Draco just looked at him, green and silent. Harry smiled and swallowed once, hoping his Adam's apple didn't bob too noticeably.

Finally Draco tipped his head forward once and lifted it again. "I haven't bothered with the paper," he admitted. "Let me see."

Harry stood carefully so as not to flash the man and grabbed the paper off the table. Getting on his knees, he shoved it through the Floo and watched Draco appraise it.

"My, my," Draco finally said, and then he looked away from the newsprint and stared into Harry's eyes. "Didn't my mother teach me _modesty_?"

Harry grinned back. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

"Floo over in a couple of hours," Draco conceded. "I should get some damn work done today before we start gallivanting. And dress a bit better this time, will you?" Then, not allowing time for Harry to answer, he snapped the Floo connection shut.

Harry jumped to his feet and allowed himself the private luxury of a fist pump and a twirl. Then he headed for his treadmill. "First exercise," he muttered quietly to the walls. "Then a shower and a wank, and then I fight with my clothes. What the fuck am I going to wear…."

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4545793715/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"I would have brought you flowers," Harry began, "but I spent too much time throwing clothing on my bed and hating everything I own. I hope this works?"

Draco looked up from his desk, still adorned with the nearly black tulips, and looked out the window. He leaned back, hands behind his head. He was in Muggle trousers and a rather wizard-looking lace-up tunic today. "We can just go shopping if your wardrobe is that sparse, Harry." He closed his eyes and basked in the sun.

He still hadn't looked at Harry, so Harry walked the two steps to stand right behind him and put his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Been working hard?" he murmured. "Let me help." He began to apply some pressure and Draco stiffened quickly, but then began to relax. "Is that good?" Harry asked.

"Mm," Draco responded, and he put his arms down. "That's… unusual. I usually use heating charms."

"Oh sure," Harry agreed. "Charms are great when you're alone, but I'm here now." He pressed at a knot in Draco's left shoulder, near the neck and Draco moaned. Then he sat up tall and uncomfortable and moved a hand toward Harry's, as though to shoo him away.

"Ah, ah," Harry chided very gently. "None of that. The noises tell me I'm doing it right." Draco put his hand down but didn't relax. "I _like_ hearing sounds," Harry murmured. "Make another one." Then he found the knot again with his left hand and mirrored the spot on Draco's right shoulder with his other hand. Then he pushed down steadily without rubbing. Draco sighed. "Oh yes," Harry agreed. "There. Now I know what to do again."

He rubbed and pressed at Draco's shoulders, arms, upper back and a little on his uncovered neck until Draco was resting most of his upper body on the desk. "Now, now," Harry whispered, leaning curled over Draco's spine. "I thought we were planning to go _out_ today, not that I am unwilling to stay in."

Draco cracked one eye open to half heartedly glare in Harry's direction. "Oaf," he grumbled. "As though you didn't do this on purpose."

Harry switched to a far lighter touch, and stroked Draco's soft shirt with his fingertips, up and down. "Mm," he agreed. "I did try to relax you. But now I'm not." He dragged his fingertips through Draco's hair and thought he heard it interrupt Draco's breath.

And perhaps that was what he heard, but Draco lifted his arms, put his hands at the edge of his desk, and not lifting his back or head up, nonetheless pushed his chair backwards. Harry stepped out of the way and stopped touching him.

"Then I suppose it is time to go?" Draco asked the desktop. And only then did he finally stand, turn, and get his first real look at Harry and his painstakingly chosen outfit. He quirked one eyebrow and lifted a hand to Harry's collar. He tested the cotton and withdrew his hand to indicate that Harry should twirl for him.

"Dear Merlin," Draco said when he'd seen the whole outfit. "You've really gone for the full Scottish…? I assume you're starkers under there?"

Harry looked at Draco and smiled. "Of course. I'm _all_ about authenticity. Besides, it was a good excuse to give you access. You know, if we felt like giving the world another…" he paused to wink, fearing it was too much but unsure about how else to end the thought.

"Show," Draco finished slowly. "Yes, I can see that."

"Well no, not yet," Harry flirted. "But I could lift up my…" he bent down a bit, reaching for the hem of his thin black wool kilt.

Draco's swallow was visible, even from Harry's bent posture and through his half-lidded eyes. _Yes!_ Harry shouted triumphantly inside his chest. "So, shall we?" he asked, and stood tall, kilt hanging modestly right where it had been. "I was thinking we should start at the _Prophet_, ask for a copy of that photo."

Draco's face morphed quickly back to impassive and he considered the suggestion briefly. "After the way she dared every witch in the country to beat your door down, you really will need to step things up. I assume you've stepped up your wards?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "This morning. Been watching letters explode into flame as the poor owls cross over the line. Wish I knew a way to set that charm without frightening the owl, but…."

Draco nodded as though he knew the hex Harry was talking about. Apparently he didn't know a way that didn't upset the owl, either. Of course, Harry mused, if Hermione didn't, who would?

"So… visit her lair? I don't see an immediate downside," Draco conceded, "and this is rather your game to play. So yes, lets. Do you find my outfit acceptable?" He turned on a heel and gave Harry a good look before Harry could ask.

His black trousers were nothing to catch Harry's eye, but over them he wore a sky blue tunic that laced over his chest and skimmed his square hips. The little glimpse of chest Harry could see through the cloth and ribbon was distracting, and the tunic—hovering just above the tight curve of Draco's bum—made Harry want to stuff the _Prophet_ plan and move directly to seduction.

"I like your shirt. Tunic. Whatever. Flattering." He smiled as blandly as possible. "So, Floo? _Apparate_? Walk in their front door? Oh," Harry laughed and palmed his face for a heartbeat before looking up at Draco through his fingers and then putting his hands back down. "Yes. Clearly, we really have to walk through the front door."

Draco's smile was charming. "I agree. But do you want to _Apparate_ to the front steps or stroll down the whole of Diagon Alley on the way?"

"I think Diagon Alley was yesterday," Harry offered. "Let's head for their front steps and walk right in."

Draco smiled and raised his wand. "See you there," he agreed and spun into the ether. Harry followed him.

They arrived separately, always safer when headed for a busy spot, but Harry reached for Draco's hand and their arms and shoulders rubbed pleasantly together as they waltzed into the newspaper's front lobby as though they owned the place.

The witch at the front desk might have been accustomed to people attempting to make a scene at the entrance to the wizarding world's most notoriously yellow rag, for she did not look up from her fingernail paint even when the two men were standing right over her. Several other staffers had noticed them, however, and it was one of them who hissed "Delinduria. _Delinduria. **Lindy!**_"

"Yeah," Lindy snapped through her chewing gum. "Wha?" Then she saw Harry and Draco, leaning over the high desk together and smiling patiently in her direction.

"We would like to speak with…" Harry paused. "The photographer?" He turned his head and looked at Draco, whose smile was positively immoral. Harry lost track of his previous intentions.

Draco simply smiled at him some more, and allowed the silence to deepen.

The crowd of curious staffers increased by three.

"Oh. My. Gawd." Lindy interrupted. "_Harry. Freakin. Pottah. At my _desk!_ My _Gawd!_ Mr Pottah! C'n I have your autograph?_

"Lindy!" Harry and Draco recognized that screech. They turned to see Rita Skeeter clacking rapid-fire into the atrium on a pair of shiny red ankle-snappers.

Skeeter moved a few steps forward and Harry winced—for himself and Lindy both—when Skeeter berated the desk witch loudly. "Delinduria, how could you not inform me that such prestigious guests were here?"

"Oh," Draco interjected. "But we hadn't… requested an audience with you, Miss Skeeter. Still," Draco continued pleasantly, ignoring the way her smarmy smile froze into a vaguely malevolent grimace. "Perhaps you could help. You see, Ha- I mean," and he smiled indulgently at Harry. "_Mr Potter and I_ were hoping for a copy of that marvellous photo your coworker took of us yesterday."

"Reealllly…" Skeeter drawled out slowly. "Well, the paper does actually have a policy that all of our photos are available for purchase but that one would be a special case, as the man who took it isn't an employee of _The Prophet_, but an employee of _mine_."

Skeeter smiled voraciously, clearly implying an upper hand, but Harry heard someone behind him snort. He squeezed Draco's hand once, then released it and turned. He made sure to then step closer to Draco again. He knew Draco could handle Skeeter, but… "Does one of you have some advice or help for me, here? I'd just like a picture of myself with my new boyfriend, and that one was so… exciting." Harry lowered his eyes to the floor for the briefest sweep then looked up again. He didn't know how to make himself blush so he could only hope that he looked sweet enough to capitulate to.

A nearby witch, round and short with fluffy, pale ginger hair and neat but plain robes leaned toward Harry slightly. Harry smiled at her, hoping to encourage. She looked at his smile and paused, then firmed her mouth into a line and took a moment to stand up straight and inhale. Then she spoke up loud and clear, looking between Harry and Skeeter. "John is no more Rita's employee than I am. He's an independent contractor and if you see his photos in the paper we bought the rights to them, fair and square. Mr Potter, you can buy a copy of that photo right now, if you like."

Grinning now, Harry reached toward her to shake her hand, when he heard someone behind him hiss a word that sounded like "dyke!"

"What?" Harry responded, glancing over his shoulder, seeing nothing suspicious, and feeling stupid. The ginger-haired witch coloured visibly and began to shrink backwards. Harry grabbed for her hand. She let him take it, but he said nothing, having no idea what to say.

Then he heard Draco's superior, aristocratic tones. His words rang through the atrium and Harry wondered if he'd cast a small, silent _Sonorus_ to amplify his voice. "Are you implying that only a lesbian would wish to assist Mr Potter? How very curious that sounds to me."

The short, ginger witch was looking at the floor now, and her hand felt like ice.

Draco spoke again and Harry wanted to kiss him right then and there.

"Would only a lesbian be willing to assist a patron of this newspaper? Is that the message you meant to imply? Or did you mean to say that only a lesbian would wish to assist _Harry Potter_? Perhaps you intended to convey an insult that would shut down the lady who gave Mr Harry Potter the truth when he had apparently been lied to? I find myself quite at a loss as to know which message, or frankly, messages, you meant to communicate."

Draco turned swiftly and took Harry's other hand in his. Then Draco reached forward to pat the wrist of the ginger-haired witch. Harry still held on to her hand. "Why, you're Druella Prewett, aren't you?" He sounded curious and pleased.

Druella looked up from the floor, still flushed and miserable, and stared at Draco for a heartbeat before nodding. "Oh, how lovely!" he exclaimed in one of the warmest voices Harry could ever remember hearing from the man. "Our great grandmothers were practically raised together, they were the finest of friends from before they could hold a wand!" He let go of Harry's hand and extended an arm toward her. She smiled tentatively and reached her other hand to curl over his elbow. She let go of Harry's hand, but Harry thought her skin had warmed a bit, first.

"Mr Potter and I would truly appreciate your help, Miss Prewett. May I call you Druella?" She nodded and stood up taller.

"We would very much like a copy of the photo we were talking about, and if you could help us manage that, we would both be so grateful. But … John, did you say the photographer was called?" Druella nodded again and smiled, far less tentatively this time. "John took a few photos of us yesterday and I would be ever so pleased if I could speak to him about the ones he still owns the rights to. Harry and I might like to purchase a copy of one of those from him as well. Do you know if he might be here today?"

The crowd of employees had thinned out considerably and Druella was now leading Draco and Harry toward a lift. Harry allowed Druella and Draco to move forward without him as he turned to see what Skeeter was doing. She was scowling at a notepad and watching her quill work furiously.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, wondering what the hell he could say that would convey even a fraction of the feelings and thoughts roiling through his head. No phrase or sentence satisfied him, so when she looked up and caught him staring, he decided to simply smile broadly at her and wave goodbye. Then he turned on his heel, kilt swirling with the movement, and followed Draco and Druella into the lift.

"Do keep up, Harry," Draco said, taking his arm and smiling warmly. "Druella and I nearly headed upstairs without you."

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4545793501/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

"Please do stay for a drink, Draco," Harry said, feeling awkward, formal and stressed. "Things ended up going so well at _The Prophet_, I thought, and our stroll through the park afterward was good publicity, it felt to me, but I would like to discuss this with you in private before you vanish again."

Draco gave a put-upon sigh and leaned his weight on one hip, resting both hands on them as well. Harry gave his drama of impatience a slow perusal and frowned. "Look," Harry tried again. "I know this is taking you away from your work, and I know I can't offer to help you with it. You think I'm a complete waste of space in the lab."

Draco snickered.

"Yes," Harry continued and hoped his smile did not look as forced as it felt. "Yes, I know. A waste of space at _best_. But here's the thing, Draco. We're committed now. To this," he felt the heat creeping up his neck and out from his hairline and barrelled on, hoping to outrun the blush, "committed to this course of action I mean, er, obviously."

Draco shifted his weight to the other foot.

"And I… that kid yesterday, the one that gasped and… and Druella today, who… er, well they… I think we have to do this, is what I mean. And not for me anymore."

Draco raised one eyebrow.

"Or, I mean, for me, still. Of course that also. And I appreciate it for me, what you, personally, are doing for me, I mean. I appreciate it. Plenty! But also for the, kids who, I mean Druella isn't a kid, and… oh for Merlin's sake."

He wasn't blushing anymore, but he was making an idiot of himself and Draco wasn't throwing him a single lifeline.

Harry turned and stalked into his kitchen, embarrassed and annoyed. "Tea, coffee, or wine?" he asked, hoping Draco would follow him instead of turning around and heading back into the Floo. When they'd Flooed over from the Leaky in front of what looked and felt like a thousand eyes Harry had thought they would both sit down together for a few minutes, but he'd had to take Draco's arm to keep him from stepping right back into the fireplace.

Harry debated putting the kettle on but realized that, at least for himself, what was truly called for here was that bottle of red Percy had brought as a gift when he'd stayed in the guestroom in December. Percy was a difficult houseguest but an excellent judge of both wine and gifts. Harry rummaged in the cupboard until he found the bottle and when he climbed back down, knees off the worktop and feet back on the floor, he turned to grab the bottle opener and found a put-upon looking Draco Malfoy in his kitchen doorway.

Harry tried to smile sweetly at Draco but knew it probably looked more like a grimace. He gave up and squatted down to fetch a pair of wine glasses from a low shelf. Then he poured both glasses half full without asking Draco's permission and walked the glasses over to the table. "Please Draco, sit. Have some wine, and talk this over with me for a few minutes. Plan with me when we'll next go out together. Then you can go back to work and forget all about me."

Draco lifted the side of his lip in an unpleasant little sneer but sat at the table—his feet in Harry's way, his left hand near but not touching Harry's right—and took a tiny sip of wine. Harry watched surprise and then appreciation tint the other man's eyes for a moment before the blank mask returned.

Harry took a decent sized sip of his own wine and swallowed it slowly. It was good, he decided, and wondered if he should offer to cut up that wheel of Double Gloucester he had in the pantry under a strong preservation charm.

"Draco, I want you to know, I see you're making a sacrifice here." Harry took a deep breath and considered what he wanted to say. "I had no idea before we started this how much of your time and work it would take. Maybe I should have, but…" Harry paused, feeling a little uncertain. "At any rate, thanks for sticking with the plan so far. Please don't give up on it yet."

Draco dipped his head once in acknowledgement and took a decent sized sip of his wine. Harry saw Draco's surreptitious glance toward the pantry so he raised his wand to summon the wheel of cheese. When it floated out of the pantry he saw Draco's shoulders lower a bit. So he summoned a box of crackers and a tin of cream cheese with garlic and chives to go with them and started to slice up the Double Gloucester with a knife from the drawer set in to that end of the table.

Draco began to eat and Harry swallowed his smile.

"Here's the thing," Harry tried again, putting his knife down and leaning forward. "I think we've bitten off something a lot larger than just getting the press to stop pretending I'm some sort of… Casanova. So we either give up right now, or we decide to just go for the golden snitch, here. And you know, we can't predict how long it will take to grab it, yeah? But I think we'll know when we've caught it. And I realize it could be hard, so I want to help you get through this. I can't brew potions, but I can cook you nice meals, I can … shit, I don't know, drum up more potions business? Do your laundry? Do your grocery shopping? I don't know how you live, Draco. What can I do that would help you out?"

Draco leaned back in his chair and looked at Harry coolly. Then they both watched as Draco swirled his own wine around his glass. Harry tried not to blurt anything out.

"You want to cook for me," Draco finally stated.

"Er… sure?" Harry responded, feeling like an idiot. If there was etiquette for a situation like this, he had no idea what it might possibly be.

Harry watched Draco hold his tongue. He could well imagine the instinct to snark coming to the surface, and he was grateful for Draco's restraint.

Draco put his wineglass down and prepared another cracker with both kinds of cheese. Then he took a bite. Then he finished it with a second bite. Then he dusted the crumbs from his hands. Then he looked at the half-eaten wheel of Double Gloucester for a long moment. Finally he put his hands on the table and looked Harry in the eye.

"I no longer have a house elf. I have not… completely adapted to the change. I would be… appreciative of that assistance. But only when we agreed upon it in advance, do you understand?"

Harry nodded solemnly, as he leaned back in his chair, grin wide and silent. "How about tonight?" he eventually asked.

"That would be… welcome," Draco agreed. Then he began to prepare another cracker.

Resisting the urge to laugh, or even just grin like the cat that finished the canary seconds before another, bigger cat came around the corner, Harry jumped out of his chair and looked into his refrigerator. Then he poked through his vegetable storage and last he checked his spice rack.

"Beef stew sound all right?" he asked Draco.

Draco finished his last sip of wine and stood up, pushing his chair away from the table. "Yes," he answered coolly. "Lovely. Now, if you will excuse me?"

Harry swallowed the pathetic little sigh he just knew wanted to escape, and forced a nice smile onto his face. "Of course. Can I Floo in at seven this evening?"

Draco turned slightly to the left and looked up at Harry's clock. It was shaped like a rooster and had pride of place above the picture window over the kitchen sink. They'd been out for quite some time. It was quarter of two.

"Make it eight," Draco said. Then he dipped his head for a moment before locking eyes with Harry and smiling an embarrassed apology. "If you would?" he continued and Harry smiled at him, happy to accommodate.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "I'll be there at eight with a huge picnic basket. You won't even have to set the table."

The look on Draco's face let Harry know right away he'd fucked up somehow. Then the revelation hit. "You… wanted a working dinner, didn't you?" Draco went a touch pink but said nothing. "You… do you often eat in your laboratory?" Draco's silent, awkward half-smile was all the answer Harry needed.

"Draco." He knew he was scolding but he couldn't stop himself. "You know even better than I do how dangerous that is."

Draco raised a hand and opened his mouth but Harry cut him off. "Don't even feed me some bullshit about how you are 'ever so careful,' Draco. Merlin on a stick, what would Snape say if he knew? You clearly don't possess his portrait!"

Draco put his hands down and looked pinkly grumpy.

"That settles it," Harry continued, hands on hips and righteous indignation all over him. "I'm flooing over with a full dinner at eight tonight and you and I are sitting down together for a nice meal that will last a minimum of forty-five minutes. Then you can work all damn night if you like, but you will have a real meal, sitting at a table."

"Yes, mum," Draco groused, but Harry decided he might look pleased. Maybe.

"Good," Harry gloated. "Now Floo off and work hard, ickle Draco. Mumsy has to cook your din-din!"

Draco rolled his eyes and headed for the Floo. Harry didn't follow. He could frame and hang the pictures of them tomorrow. He had a lot of veg to chop, and he needed to marinate the beef immediately. In rather more alcohol than usual. Who cared what he'd _said_ about Draco working all night? He had plans for after dinner.

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The bell over the door jingled as Harry entered the shop. "Winston?" he wondered aloud. "Are you about?" he paused in the unexpected silence. "Winston?"

Harry tried to remember Winston's husband's first name. Ed… something. Edwin, Edward, Edmund…. He was pondering the wisdom of either guessing or just calling "Eddie!" when Winston came in through the back door he'd used to bring Harry out to the little greenhouse.

"Harry!" he exclaimed joyfully.

"Oh, Winston," Harry breathed gratefully, "I thought you weren't here! I need 'shag me _now_' flowers!"

"Ready for that anthurium?" Winston asked, winking and spreading out his hands generously.

Harry stalled. "Um, I… yeah?"

"Oh dear," Winston responded, his face and tone suddenly serious. He actually put his hands down on the counter briefly. "What's the situation?"

"I'm making him dinner tonight. We've only kissed so far and I swear, Winston, he's so… hell!" Harry stared at the ceiling for a moment, his hands in his hair. "My _shoes_ practically melt! He's an incredible kisser."

Winston's smile was indulgent. He nodded and Harry shoved both his hands into his pockets and leaned over onto the counter. "I'm bringing a beef stew and a good wine over to his business tonight. He has a flat above. He clearly thinks hanging about with me is a waste of time, eating into his work, so I offered to cook for him? And we'll be eating it together, tonight, all alone. If I can't get him into bed tonight, I need to give up."

Winston looked surprised. "That seems premature!"

"Oh come on," Harry chided, still leaning on Winston's front counter. "We're gay men, for … Pete's sake."

Winston winked, having no idea Harry'd bitten back not 'fuck' but 'Merlin.'

"I've never needed more than 'want to get naked?' to get a man into bed before, unless he just wasn't interested. It usually takes less than that! If dinner doesn't work, after all this time, and all the flowers… then the kisses were a fluke and he doesn't want me. Umm, right?"

"Normally I'd say yes, without even thinking about it," Winston conceded. "But with this gentleman? I'm hesitating. First, there's the whole part about how he grew up wealthy and now seems to be so focused on work. What is that about? There could be some pride in there and I don't know enough yet. And then there's all that tension you two have, the history. It occurs to me, your man might be… dare I say it… 'playing hard to get,' because you're… you."

"Men do that?" Harry spluttered.

Winston's laugh was genuine and refreshing. "Not all gay men are cut from the same cloth, my dear boy. I can't see why it isn't a plausible option at this point. Don't give up on him yet. Keep reading the signs. Now, I think if you want to defuse with a bit of humour, the anthurium might actually be a good choice. But otherwise… I'll need to think. Roses could well be a little too over-the-top right now…."

Winston twirled around and looked carefully at the flowers displayed in his colourful shop. Harry, for his part, considered the idea of the crazy cock-like anthurium flower as an ice breaker. The orchids had said, in essence, "you're worth it." The black tulips meant "even with all of your, and our, history." Those gifts had both gone over more or less the way Harry had hoped. But this? He wasn't sure.

The anthurium would hopefully say "fuck me!" Otherwise he would walk in there with a big white flower-cock and accidentally communicate "I'm a huge dork!"

"Winston?"

Winston hmmed at him, distracted by a large rainbow of gerbera daisies in an oddly shaped vase.

"Is your Ed, um…."

"Edward." Winston smiled, looking at Harry over his shoulder.

"Right. Is your Edward ever… silly?"

Winston looked gobsmacked for no more than a heartbeat. "Yes, Harry, of course."

He looked about to continue and Harry rushed ahead with his own ideas, afraid his train of thought might otherwise desert him. "Do you like that about him?"

Winston cocked his head and smiled. He turned away from the daisies to face Harry; hands on hips, earring winking. "Yes, I love his sense of humour. Even when he gets a little ridiculous. Why?"

"Because I was thinking… it might be time to buy that anthurium."

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When Harry returned home from Winston's shop his entire house was drenched in enticing aromas. Harry was no French chef, but—at least in his own opinion—he was very good at the ten or fifteen dishes he most liked to eat.

His beef stew was originally Molly's recipe, but his version had more wine and no green veg. Molly had a thing for kale, having read once that it was the healthiest, hardiest vegetable one could grow in a British garden. She would mince it almost into non existence and then sneak it into everything, apparently under the impression that her children were fooled, even now that they were all adults who cooked for themselves.

Harry didn't care if the stuff was capable of single-leafedly curing spattergroit, he didn't like eating it. And of course he'd made a few other changes as well. Harry's beef stew might not be as healthy as Molly's, but it was spicier, meatier, and—in his opinion—more masculine. He opened the slow cooker and got a face full of steam. Probably time to add the barley.

It was surprisingly exciting to prepare for the night's… he probably shouldn't call it a date. He had to dig out his shrinking picnic basket, and then he had to repack it with china and cutlery that responded well to its innate magic. The plastic and gingham he'd had in there wasn't what he'd imagined for this evening.

Finding two clean napkins that matched his nicest white table cloth turned out to be a bit of a job, and it took him a full twenty minutes of dithering to decide not to take silver candlesticks and tapers. Before he _Banished_ them back to the attic he put them in and took them out of the stupid basket at least four times. He had finally decided that if he was that unsure of how they would come across, it was a bad risk.

He spent the afternoon grinning like a fool anyway.

He ended up Flooing out to see his favourite wine seller, as after he'd marinated the beef _very_ generously, he didn't have a good enough unopened burgundy in the back of the pantry. He spent a few galleons more than he had expected to, but he trusted Knixxor to steer him right with wines. Percy had introduced him to that shop. That particular Weasley was prickly, but putting up with him definitely came with some benefits.

The crazy-ass flowers—he'd ended up buying a potted plant with two large blooms, it had seemed symbolically amusing to both he and Winston—sat on his kitchen table throughout the day's preparations. He was determined not to leave them home in a fit of insecurity. They were _funny_ damn it. They were also gorgeous in a showy, rain foresty, and (dare he say it) gay sort of way. Perhaps the better word was 'campy.' Those flowers screamed "look at me! I am utterly special, wonderful, I belong on the silver _screen_, darling!" They made him smile.

Eventually he felt confident about the picnic basket. Packed, unpacked and checked over, then repacked carefully, it was finally shrunk down at quarter after seven. Then Harry ran upstairs and put on his best black trousers and a clean blue oxford he'd found in the back of the closet a few hours before. He'd performed three ironing spells on it before he was satisfied. He had even shined his one pair of leather brogues.

Thank Merlin for that slow cooker Hermione's mum had introduced him to. Cooking magic was mostly reliable, but sometimes if you walked away from it, or performed other spells elsewhere in the house, it could wane on you and you wouldn't even know. For some things, a bit of Muggle tech was just the ticket.

He paced in his living room for a few minutes, staring at his clock, until he Flooed into Draco's fireplace at eight o'clock on the utter _dot_. "Draco!"

"Upstairs, Harry! Come through the door in front of you. The stairs will be on your left."

Harry trotted up the stairs, wondering what Draco's flat would look like. At the top of the stairs he found an open door leading into a spacious room. He scanned it, the pot of anthurium obediently hovering behind him, as Draco approached with a cool smile on his face. Harry noticed that Draco's flat was large and comfortable, a seating area here, a not-terribly small kitchen and dining area there, and a huge wall of windows on the left. On the right he saw a curtained off area and realized this was a studio. A one room flat. With very nice furniture and an incredibly handsome resident wearing a mix of Muggle and wizarding clothing again. But far smaller than Harry had expected. Draco really did live here full time, on just the one floor, with—if Harry was right—his bed behind that heavy floor to ceiling curtain.

"I like your flat!" Harry blurted.

Draco continued to smile, but he looked at the floor near Harry's feet for a moment before responding. "Er, thank you. Despite years in a dungeon dormitory I am still not quite accustomed to having so little space. I, er, like your house, too. I should have said."

"You look good. In that. Colour. The blue. I brought you flowers. A plant, I mean." Harry tried to wave the levitated plant around to the front but didn't have his wand in hand and it stayed where it was. Why did he feel like a gawky puppy tonight? This was Draco, for goodness sake, not some complete stranger or a rock star or something. He went to move the plant again and the terracotta pot floated up his back and bonked him lightly in the head.

"Oh!" Draco exclaimed. "Oh, my!"

Harry grinned unapologetically. This was more like it. "Anthurium," he explained, taking the pot out of the air and showing the blooms to Draco. "I bought them from Winston."

Draco reached for the broad red spathe and stroked it. "Your Muggle flower shop friend?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed amiably, watching Draco's fingers. "He's been really helpful. He wrote down the instructions for caring for the thing. I hope it isn't a bother to have all these potted plants to care for, all of a sudden, I only thought, well…."

Draco gave him an indulgent little smile but didn't interrupt.

"I just remember you were always really good at herbology and all, and being a potions man, I thought, you know… er, plants?"

Harry's face was warm. Draco's grin got wider.

"Plus, they're pretty. And, er, I figured I should, you know, bring a gift?"

"It's all right, Harry," Draco finally replied. "I do like plants. They brighten up the place, and I get plenty of sun over there on the south side, with all those windows, see?"

Obediently, Harry turned toward the wall of windows. Now he could see the little silver pot of orchids, the ribbon still on. "The orchids. They look nice there. Your windows are so big, I didn't see them until now. Which is nice, of course! That your windows are so big." Harry could feel his face heating further and wished he could find a way to start over.

"Let's have dinner, Harry." Draco turned and stepped away, moving toward the table. "I really do need to get back to work. Thanks to you and the Weasley's shop, I have a lot more orders than I did just last week!"

Harry stood still for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to will his face back to a normal colour. What the hell was the _matter_ with him tonight? And oh shit, what the hell had Draco just said?

"But that's good, isn't it?" he asked, remembering Draco's last statement. He felt ready to move toward the table and resume the conversation. Unsure what else to do with it, he floated the anthurium over to sit next to the orchids on the floor by the windows.

"Certainly," Draco agreed, sounding relaxed. "A very nice problem to have. Nonetheless, this is a one man operation, yes? No one else to help, no one else to blame!" He had reached the far head of the table and turned to face Harry, his hands on the back of the carved wooden chair.

"And no one else to pay," Harry agreed. "The Snorphanage was like that for a while, until Hermione convinced Ginny to join her. Now the place is a lot less stressful for her, but it's always hard to scrounge up enough grant and donation money to cover both of their contracted salaries after they pay all the expenses."

"I think I read about that in _The Quibbler_," Draco said. "From all reports it seems to be a true model for all followers. A very fine organization." He smiled politely at Harry and waited.

Harry stood at the other end of the table and put his own hands on top of the chair facing Draco. "Wait till you see this picnic basket. It's really cool," he said, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. He took the tiny picnic basket out of his pocket and placed it in the middle of the table. Then he pointed his wand at it. "_Centralio_!" he intoned, and the tiny basket adjusted itself slightly to the left and on its axis. "It has to be exactly in the middle," Harry explained. "Or so I was told. _Reverto_!"

The basket hopped up, high off the table and exploded in slow motion, releasing first the white starched tablecloth, shooting out like a parachute. The napkins followed, shining cutlery, water and wine glasses, cobalt blue plates. Everything hurried itself to sit in front of one of the two men. Then the ceramic serving dish erupted from the basket, expanding as it came. The lid lifted as the food drifted down to sit on a trivet that had separated itself from the bottom of the dish. Harry could smell the stew. It still smelled delicious, and he smiled.

The Caesar salad came next: slightly dewy, cold droplets of water visible on the romaine. Three bottles of salad dressing followed: Caesar, extra virgin olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Harry preferred a little balsamic vinegar on his Caesar salad, but he had a theory that Draco might be a purist.

The last thing out of the basket was the bottle of wine Harry had probably overpaid for just a few hours earlier. As though the basket knew how badly Harry wanted to impress, it floated the wine in front of Draco's face and then gently sat it down in front of him. Draco picked it up, looked at the label and quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Knixxor?" he asked, and Harry nodded, pleased and off kilter at the same moment. As much as he wanted to be in Draco's league, evidence that he might actually just be there surprised him every time.

"Shall we?" he asked, hoping that was all right in someone else's flat.

"Of course," Draco said agreeably, and pulled out his own chair.

They felt so awkward around each other. Harry couldn't understand it. But he might be able to fix it. "How did you come to have such a good working relationship with Ron and George Weasley?" he tried, having sat. "They've never mentioned anything to me, but you've completely won them over. I was impressed."

Draco took a bite of salad and chewed it thoughtfully, fork back on the table. Then he sipped his wine. "This is very good," he said. "Did Percy tell you about Knixxor's shop?"

Wondering what the hell Draco was getting at, Harry nodded.

Draco sipped his wine again, then put down his glass. "Is Percy out to his family yet?"

"Er, not… really?" Harry hesitated. "I'm surprised you even know that… wait. Did you and Percy ever…?"

"Yes." Draco put his hands below the table—braced above the knee from the look of his elbows—and looked into Harry's eyes.

"Percy and I were a very, very quiet—and ultimately unsuccessful—couple. For nearly a year. I taught Percy about Knixxor's shop and he's now taught you about it as well. Did you two ever—"

"No!" Harry blurted. "Percy's… er, not my type. Plus he wants to stay in the closet. He helped you start a business relationship with George and Ron?"

"Percy is my type." Draco said firmly. "At least," he sighed and toyed with his wine glass for a moment before looking at Harry again. "I thought he was. Percy and I are a lot alike, Harry. Too much alike to have a successful relationship, as it turns out. We're both fussy want-to-be autocrats, proud purebloods from ancient family lines, rigid thinkers who know 'the right way' before anyone else opens his mouth." He smiled wryly and took a long, delicate sip of his wine. "The affair was doomed from before it began, obviously, but Percy convinced me to open my own business and he talked with George and Ron on my behalf until they agreed to give me a try just to shut him the right fuck _up_."

"You're quoting George, aren't you?" Harry asked, smiling nervously.

Draco startled before he laughed, a rich, deep chuckle that Harry knew immediately he needed to hear again before the night was out.

"Yes," he said simply, but his eyes pierced into Harry in a new way. Harry decided he didn't quite have the guts to ask why.

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The rest of the meal was comfortable, but the conversation stayed at a level far shallower than Harry preferred. He simply wasn't skilled enough to get Draco to go anywhere the man wasn't interested in going. So how the _hell_ was Harry going to keep him upstairs long enough for a real shag? Harry had said "forty five minutes and then you can work" and he could tell he was dealing with a man who wanted to hold him to that.

"I almost didn't get you that flower," he found himself saying. _Where the hell am I going with this?_ he asked himself.

"Oh?" Draco asked neutrally, raising one eyebrow.

"Yeah, I… I thought a little humour might help. And anthurium is, well, I think it's really funny, in a campy sort of way."

"Help with what?" was the obvious question, but Draco didn't ask it. He looked into Harry's face for a long moment, and Harry tried not to fiddle with the tablecloth. Harry put his fork down and smiled in the most relaxed way he could. He even stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back in his chair. Draco just stared at him and Harry heard the words in his head before Draco could open his mouth.

_This isn't what I need in my life right now, Harry._

_You're a great bloke, Harry, but…._

_I think we'd make better friends, don't you, Harry?_

_I met someone the other day and I think he's someone I need to concentrate on._

_You're just not my type._

_I'm sorry._

_I tried._

"So I really ought to get downstairs," Draco was saying, and Harry had been so intent on inventing words for him that he'd missed what Draco had actually said.

"I had, er, help me with the dishes?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, but this time he was smiling. "That fancy-arse picnic basket of yours doesn't wash the dishes?"

They packaged the leftovers and spelled everything else clean quickly. Harry ostentatiously put all of the leftovers in Draco's pantry under a strong preservation charm and Draco smiled awkwardly at him, looking a little pink and shifty.

Harry found himself wishing they could stand at a sink together and wash up the Muggle way, just for the excuse to spend time, bump hips, touch hands. The basket ate everything up and Harry shrank it. It fit tightly in his pocket, reminding him that he'd eaten rather a lot tonight, so perhaps it was better not to fall into bed right now.

Right.

He stepped closer to Draco.

"I'll walk you down to the Floo," Draco said, moving suddenly for the stairs. "I have to go downstairs to the laboratory and work now anyway. Thank you for making us that stew." He couldn't look Harry in the eye directly, but instead kept sliding his eyes over sideways, like he was afraid of what Harry might be thinking.

"It was delicious, and so hearty and healthy. I should be productive till two or three in the morning!" Now Draco was smiling with rigid force and Harry smiled back, though he wanted to shove Draco up against the door to the stairs and make him forget the lab altogether—awkward discomfort and all.

"Yep," Harry said instead. "Lots of protein!" He followed Draco down the stairs, rolling his eyes and cursing himself. _Now who's awkward?_

They got to the Floo and Draco reached around Harry to grab the little pot of powder. "I'll need to close this off when you leave," he murmured quietly, near Harry's ear.

"Mm," Harry agreed. He'd much prefer they turned it off right now and go upstairs. Or get down on the floor. He wasn't feeling picky about it.

Then Draco turned slightly and Harry found himself trapped between the fireplace leg and Draco.

"I need to remember my manners," Draco whispered quietly into Harry's slightly opened lips. His nearly invisible stubble contacted Harry's cheek, right next to his mouth. "And thank you properly for that delightful meal." Harry fought the instinct to turn toward Draco's lips like a baby rooting for the breast and said nothing, sure he'd make an idiot of himself if he uttered a syllable.

Draco's lips made briefest contact with Harry's, and Harry nearly groaned, nearly reached out, nearly grabbed Draco's waist. Instead, he moved his own lips gently against Draco's. The man wanted to be in charge? Fine. As long as it meant this, that was fine!

Draco breathed out and Harry inhaled. Draco had surreptitiously cast a breath freshening charm, probably while they were walking down the stairs. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as they'd seemed. Draco's lips were soft and gentle, teasing at Harry's. Harry could feel Draco's stubbled upper lip tease his own.

Harry was getting hard but he didn't move his hips or hands. He just held tight to his own thighs and let Draco call the shots.

Draco moved to Harry's neck, not making contact with Harry's hot skin, just breathing on him. He licked one pointed stripe up and curled his hot, damp tongue around Harry's ear. He blew into Harry's ear and Harry shivered, somehow managing not to moan like a three knut whore. Then Draco opened his mouth over the cord of Harry's neck, sucked the skin into his mouth, and bit down firmly. Harry's knees tried to buckle.

Draco pulled his face back and winked. It was nothing whatsoever like one of Winston's winks. Draco's posture was casual but his face looked flushed. His breathing looked slow and calm, but unnatural, like he was forcing himself not to pant.

"Fucking tease," Harry whuffed.

Draco ignored his tantrum. "Don't call again until next Friday at four," he whispered into Harry's ear. "Give me a chance to catch up on work and sleep. Give me a chance to… recover." Then he threw a handful of Floo powder in the fire, called out Harry's address in a crystal clear, calm as a clam voice, and winked as he shoved Harry into the swirl of green fire.

Harry fell to his knees on his hearth, truthfully not sure if he was amping up the melodrama or he'd really needed to fall down. He knelt there for a long moment, staring at the patterns of his floor. Then he stood up and brushed his knees off. "I should get a cat or something," he said out loud. He took the picnic basket out of his pocket and threw the tiny thing on the table. Then he shut down his Floo, checked the wards around the house, and headed up the stairs, shedding clothing and dousing lights as he walked.

Nearly nude, he entered his bedroom and shed his trousers and boxer briefs in a heap on the floor and stepped over them without a glance. Then he went directly to the top right hand drawer of his bureau, poking around for only a moment before he found his favorite vibrator and a small tube of lubricant. He put the lube and vibrator in his left hand and caressed his erection with his right as he made for the bed. He _wanted_ to wank, certainly. But he also knew there was no other way he'd manage to fall asleep for several hours. So what if it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. His balls ached. His cock fucking _hurt_.

Harry got comfortable on the bed and lubed up the vibrator. Knees up high and spread wide, he began to press it into his arse with his left while he stroked his cock with his right. The sense memory of Draco curling the tip of his tongue into Harry's ear flooded into his body and that side of his head felt like it was on fire and sparking. _Yeaahhh…_ he thought as he slid the vibrator in hard. _Oh yeaahhh…_

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427546/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Harry spent the next week and a half distracting himself every way he could think of. He visited Knixxor's wine shop and spent twice as much as he had intended, picking up three bottles of white, two bottles of red, a Pinot Noir and a Riesling. He thoroughly rechecked and updated every ward on his house and Floo. _Should have done that two months ago,_ he told himself. He worked at the Snorphanage, even volunteering to take all eleven of the eight, nine and ten year olds out flying, even in the spring rain. He brushed up on notice-me-not charms, leave-me-alone charms, and his disillusionment spells. He doubled his exercise routine. He stood at the window watching owls panic as the letters they carried burst into flame and crumbled into ash. He checked the owls themselves, when they let him, pleased to see that none suffered worse than a few singed feathers.

He thought to owl McGonagall but since he had no owl he ended up flooing her instead, and they had a lovely conversation over a working lunch in her office.

Twice he found himself lingering in a fancy food shop he'd never bothered with before. At the Muggle one he ended up dithering. Wensleydale with cranberries, or white stilton with apricots? He ended up getting a nice little wheel of each, what the hell. Plus smoked salmon, brie, three kinds of caviar because he had no idea which Draco, or he himself for that matter, would prefer. Who knew there were so many kinds of fancy crackers and water biscuits? He eventually narrowed it down to two boxes, then ran back and added the cracked wheat with peppercorn ones at the last minute.

He went to a shop Dean Thomas had once raved about and got the two photos John had taken on Diagon Alley framed. He had fun deciding where to hang them. Eventually they went on the inner doors of his wardrobe. _Maybe someday we can hang them over the bed,_ Harry daydreamed.

He took a deep breath and went through his entire wardrobe, donating everything that had a hole he couldn't mend, everything that looked less than great on him, everything that didn't fit well anymore. He really had grown taller since the last time he'd done this, he realized. Then he got on the internet and ordered three new pairs of trousers and two new shirts. Going shopping with Draco didn't sound like quite the date of his dreams. As per his usual, he had the Muggle shop mail the packages to Hermione's parent's dental office. It was always pleasant to pop in there and visit with them when he needed to pick up a Muggle delivery.

He baked three new cake recipes, experimenting here and there as whims occurred to him. The strawberry yoghurt pound cake was good, but he'd used too many eggs and it tasted a little more like strawberry yoghurt bread. The cinnamon chocolate cake was fine but a little dull. The chocolate cream filled cake, though, was fantastic and he immediately made a second one and put it in the pantry under some strong preservation charms. The first one he ate up in three hours.

The next day, unable to resist, he made a third cake and owled it to Draco in a basket that also included apples and small wrapped cheeses. He enjoyed chatting with Corazon as he paid to rent her owl and regretted that Pepper was out on another job.

Two days later he jogged past a wizarding grocery he'd never noticed before—that's what running an extra four miles a day gets you, he supposed—and headed over after his shower to buy whatever looked good.

At first the shopkeeper had attempted to mention his three "lovely nieces," but Harry had shut him up right quick. "I'm here to buy food to share with my _boyfriend,_" he insisted, and the man saw a large sale and decided to pursue that over the niece angle.

He ended up with two eggs from a Dwarf Peruvian Vipertooth—guaranteed to be unfertilized and enough for a large soufflé, the shopkeeper assured him, and handed him three soufflé recipes to choose from. He also bought vegetarian stuffed tentacula leaves, garlic stuffed olives marinating in mallowsweet juice, a small jar of pickled flutterbloom, and a whole case of his favourite pumpkin squash. The price was so good he almost bought two cases.

After the merchant had portkeyed all the food to Harry's table, he tried to convince Harry to buy a large wheel of white stilton with apricots. "Real Muggle cheese, Mr Potter, very exotic!" Harry grinned as he _Apparated_ home to put everything away.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427298/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Friday was proving to be a perfectly ordinary morning. He hadn't set the alarm spell so he woke naked, warm and alone in the centre of his bed, tangled in the lopsided, knitted brown and cream wool blanket from Hermione. His floor length indigo curtains were carefully closed, and he opened them with his wand to see that he'd slept well into the morning. He rolled over to see that his clock confirmed it. He'd slept till just after ten. Pepper had surely been by and dropped the paper on the stoop, and he'd owe her two coins and two treats tomorrow. He stretched, feeling leonine and sexy. Then he rolled his eyes. Even if it were true, fat lot of good it did him. He'd awakened alone every morning for months on end.

He'd been dreaming about Draco again. He could remember something about being bent over a chair and soundly fucked, something about a sixty-nining session that made him groan to recall, and something about being naked underneath Draco that had seemed to involve… wings? Huge, white, wings. He wasn't sure what the hell _that_ was about, but they'd looked good with Draco's pale skin and hair.

Again he was hard _and_ needed to piss, and that was really getting annoying. He'd been stupid enough to attempt to empty his bladder magically yesterday. He wouldn't make that mistake again. That charm did _not_ mix with erections. He sighed, extricated himself from the blanket's caress and headed to the toilet to piss. He leaned one hand on the wall over the toilet as he urinated, feeling sleepy and lazy and unmotivated.

He washed his hands, stretched again and considered… back to bed for a good long wank, or head downstairs for a leisurely breakfast? His erection was gone but it would return in an instant if he went looking for it. He knew he didn't want to read anything Skeeter had to say about him right now. And after those dreams—and trying to recall them—he was randy, dammit, so that was that. He tossed the blanket haphazardly toward the foot of the bed and grabbed the lube and vibrator from the bedside table.

Then he climbed on the bed, lay on his back and bent his legs at the knee, leaving his toys next to him to use both hands on his cock and balls and one finger down just a bit and _yeah, that's it_. He really needed a good solid fuck, and soon.

How long before he could convince Draco to fuck him? Maybe if he suggested they do it in public Draco would fuck him good and hard, hoping for front page exposure. A good reason to wear the kilt again. Oh fuck, he had an exhibitionist kink he didn't usually think about and it was getting him hard and eager. He let go of his balls to grab the vibrator and put a bit of lube on it, then started to press it into his body.

His cock was hard in his hand, he flicked the vibrator on, and in his mind Draco's cock was in his throat and his balls were draped on Harry's face, right over his eyes and nose. If Draco was over him like that he could be in charge, pushing his cock in and out of Harry's mouth at the speed and depth _he_ chose and Harry would just have to suck it, take it into his throat and do whatever Draco wanted.

He could feel pre-come start to leak from the slit of his cock.

Draco would kneel on the edge of Harry's shoulders and suck Harry's cock down like chocolate, teasing and nibbling and going slow, while he fucked his big (it would be big, right?) cock deep into Harry's throat and Harry would have to work hard to breathe and he would forget sometimes because Draco would lick and suck him and the vibrator was thrumming on his prostate and Harry would reach up and caress Draco's tight little arse and maybe stick a finger in Draco's arsehole and Harry came hard, panting and huffing, all over his belly and chest.

He put his legs down, opened his eyes and sighed, sleepy again. The blanket looked inviting in its rumpled heap at the foot of the bed and he dumped the lube and vibrator on the floor, cleaned the mess from his skin with his wand, and pulled the blanket up, cocooning in it like a child. He could nap if he wanted. He had hours upon hours to kill until four.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427450/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

That afternoon Harry knocked on Draco's office door at three minutes after four, having again waltzed right through the clean, quiet laboratory uninvited. "I brought you some lunch," he said to Draco's bent back.

"I thought you might," Draco said, turning away from quill and parchments and smiling brilliantly at Harry over his shoulder. "I hope you brought some for yourself as well, because I think we should go have a picnic in that little grassy area next to the Gringotts' steps."

"I didn't bring extra, actually," Harry answered. "I wasn't hungry and we hadn't discussed any plans. Why don't you _Apparate_ back with me and we'll plan the outing while we pack the picnic basket?"

Draco nodded agreement and then stretched slowly, sinuously backwards over the low back of his chair, holding his hands together; bending gracefully, closing his eyes. Harry's mouth went dry.

"I, er, bought a few snacks this week," Harry mumbled, and Draco made an appreciative little grunt as he finished stretching, his back arched like a stone bridge that Harry wanted to climb on and go somewhere.

"You're so domestic," Draco said, standing and slowly twisting his spine from the hips. Harry heard a small crackle and hid his grin.

Draco sighed quietly enough that Harry thought he might have been trying to hide it. "I'm so focused on my business it feels like I don't have time to cook anything nice or concentrate on shopping or recipes or anything. And of course I grew up leaving all that to others anyway. Did you do any of this stuff as a child?" He twisted the other way.

Harry thought about that for a moment while Draco stretched. _Best go light_, he decided. "Yeah," he replied once Draco turned back, and Draco accepted the word with a pleasant smile.

"No kilt today?" Draco asked, moving a bit closer to Harry, his smile insouciant.

"Thought that might be overdoing it," Harry shrugged. "You disagree?"

"I just might," Draco agreed. "Let's head over to your place and pack a decadent little lunch. I somehow expect you anticipated just the sorts of things I have in mind."

Harry shuffled his feet, nervous about his distance from Draco. Too close? Too far? The office was tiny.

"Oh yeah?" Harry grinned. "Like what?"

"Finger foods," Draco said, sauntering even another little step closer. "Yummy little things we can feed each other."

"Yeah," Harry murmured as Draco smiled toothily. "I suppose I have, at that."

"Good," Draco smiled. "Then lead me back to your place." He bowed his head a bit, smiling wickedly and Harry raised his wand and took the one remaining step into Draco's space, tangling their feet.

"I'll just bring you there myself," he laughed, and twirled them into space.

"You!" Draco blurted when they appeared together in Harry's kitchen. He stepped back a half step and put his hands on his hips. "Warn a man before you side-along!"

"You're no fun," Harry mock-pouted, and stepped further away before Draco could feel the erection starting up in his shorts. "Let me fetch some possibilities. Would you get the picnic basket down? It's at the top of that cupboard over there." He pointed and then headed for his pantry, willing his erection away so he could walk casually and comfortably. _Blank wall._ he thought, and took a deep breath, and then another. _Blank wall._

Harry opened his pantry and looked in. They had a lot of options, and he didn't want to mess with the preservation charms until he and Draco had agreed on what they would actually bring. He began levitating foods off the shelves and back over his shoulder, to float behind him onto the table. He knew when Draco was done with the picnic basket because he started cooing over the cheese.

"Is this _Wensleydale_? I haven't had a good Wensleydale in…. Ooh! And is this a Stilton? With apricots in? Oh, how lovely! Where did you get these?"

"Like the look of that, do you?" Harry called out without turning, and levitated all three jars of caviar out. "Bought both wheels at a little Muggle grocer's. Never been in there till this week." Then he took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought, and deliberately bent over at the waist, deciding he could claim to be looking at the labels of the bottles on the bottom shelf if Draco called him on it.

"The funny bit," he said, his voice lowered by his unusual position, "was a few days later when a wizard grocer—Oakdale Birch, of Birch's Best?—anyway, I bought some things from him I'd never find at Tesco's and all the while he's trying to sell me this huge wheel of Stilton!"

"Oh?" Draco murmured quietly, and his voice was throaty and much closer than it had been.

"Yeah…" Harry began, and moved to stand. A hand pressed gently into his back.

"Stay," Draco said, and pressed down harder for a fluttering heartbeat of a second. Then his other hand touched Harry's waistband and Harry allowed himself an audible exhale. He stayed.

"I wonder," Draco purred. His hand moved almost imperceptibly—except for the trail of singed nerves—from Harry's waistband, down over Harry's arse cheek and stopped—palm down, fingers gently teasing at the edges of Harry's balls. "I've been wondering," he continued, and applied more pressure to Harry with both of his hands.

Harry spread his feet further. "Wondering what?" he asked, sounding intent, and tipped his hips backwards, pushing his balls into Draco's caress.

"If you'd like to attend the Beltane fires with me," Draco husked quietly, and rubbed at Harry's balls with his right while moving his left down to cup Harry's arse.

"I would," Harry answered easily. "But I think a test run in private would be a good first go, don't you?" He rocked in Draco's hands. When Draco pressed his erection into Harry's arse Harry's head fell forward suddenly, like he'd released control of it.

"Indeed," Draco agreed. "If we get caught by Skeeter on May first we'll want to look real, not like we're playing for the cameras."

"Indeed," Harry parroted, his brain on autopilot, his cock in charge. _Two can play it cool_ he realized muzzily and came up with something. "Can't have anyone thinking that's our first time."

"Then it ought not be," Draco said quickly. Harry heard him lower his zip and rushed to remove his own trousers. "Been imagining plowing your arse ever since you showed up with that crazy cock-flower," Draco admitted, as Harry finished getting his clothes mostly out of the way. He heard Draco croak out a lubrication charm and braced himself hopefully against the shelf in front of him. His arsehole felt unnaturally cold and tingly.

"Ought to be in a bed, but…" Draco trailed off, both hands on Harry's cheeks, spreading, cupping and warming them.

"Next time," Harry said firmly and moaned in relief as Draco let go of Harry's left cheek and began pressing his cockhead against Harry's hole. Draco felt so much better than the damn vibrator, alive and hot and noisy. Draco pushed inward until his skin pressed hard against Harry's arse and his balls brushed against Harry's skin.

"Hot…" Harry groaned. He felt full and stretched open. He breathed in deep, adjusting to his new lover while his knuckles—still grabbing the shelf—grew less white.

"Urngh…" Draco ground out incoherently and Harry rocked away and then back onto the man's cock. "Unhh…" Draco responded, and stroked Harry's cheeks. Harry rocked again, further this time. "Gonna fuck you _hard_," Draco promised.

"Now!" Harry demanded and Draco pulled slow inches out of Harry's increasingly frantic body before slamming back in. "Yeahh…" Harry agreed, his knuckles again whitening quickly around the shelf as he used it to leverage their new, necessary pace.

Harry's cock hung hard, red and neglected. He tried to release the shelf to stroke his dick and Draco's next thrust nearly brained him against it. "_Touch_ me, you selfish bastard," Harry found himself whinging and almost regretted it until Draco _did_, his long fingers closing around the thicker base of Harry's erection and now moving in time—fast—with the rest of Draco's body.

Harry felt his balls tighten up immediately and knew he would soon be spraying come all over his pantry, but he could only bark out a laugh at the image. Nothing could ruin a mood this high. Draco's pace was hard and steady inside Harry.

"S'good," he assured Draco. "Grip. Tight and fast and so _good_." Draco squeezed Harry's cock even tighter and rougher and Harry laughed again and shoved backwards, hard. _If Skeeter could see us now_, he thought helplessly, _maybe she'd fucking **give up**_.

"Yes!" Draco yelled out and thrust harder and faster, his new rhythm promising imminent orgasm for both of them if he could… just… never stop… "Yes!" Harry moaned loudly and Draco caught Harry's forceful spray of come in his eager fingers, milking and teasing the head of Harry's cock even as the sensation became overwhelming and made Harry desperate to squirm away. But "away" meant backwards onto Draco's erection. Harry shuddered with tension and the need to get away and stop _feeling_. "Too much," he panted. "Too much!"

Draco only laughed and stroked come all over Harry's still mostly erect dick. "Bastard!" Harry whined in a high pitch, completely out of control, and then he eased over the peak and the hand felt only good again and the cock inside him felt only good again and he moaned his pleasure and pushed backwards, strengthening his bearing against the floor.

"You'd have hit the _wall_ if I'd not grabbed the head of your cock. All over _everything_." Draco slammed into Harry again and Harry felt taken and thoroughly fucked, like his dream. He let his head fall forward again and took the battering in his arse. _Fuck_ but he'd needed this.

"Gonna come in you," Draco breathed over Harry's back. "Fuck your… tight… arse… and… yeah!" He crooned and came, shooting hot pulses of slick liquid with each panting thrust.

They rested together for a moment before Harry stood slowly, feeling Draco sliding from his body with the movement. "Mm," he mumbled, and Draco's arms slid warmly up his trunk, pulling Harry back against Draco's chest. Come was starting to leak from him and Draco's softening cock felt messy against his cheeks, but he didn't much care. He felt warm and right, the world was sunny and strong. He'd have bet he was all glowy and he knew the look on his face had to be unbearably smug. "Heh," he said, because it wasn't even that he didn't care. He _loved_ it. Draco's arms tightened around him. He felt Draco's chin move to rest on his left shoulder.

"Mm," Draco hummed. "Now I'm _really_ hungry."

Harry laughed. "I have lots of protein to feed you," he said, half joking, "but I need to change. Clothes," he clarified when Draco gave a little interrogative hum.

Draco laughed. "Are you too well fucked to clean up magically?" he asked. His voice was an audible smirk.

"Maybe," Harry agreed comfortably. "But mostly I thought you wanted me in that kilt."

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4545793219/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

By the time they _Apparated_ together to the graceful sweeping steps in front of Gringotts they had packed a small picnic—Draco nibbling throughout—that required no utensils at all other than wine glasses; and Harry had put on his black kilt. Then they'd got the kilt utterly filthy. Then they'd cleaned the kilt's spring weight wool and the carpet, healed the rug burn on Harry's knees, and headed out before they could get distracted again.

They spread a small gingham blanket on the grass, to the right of the stone steps that rose dramatically toward the large wooden doors. Anyone passing by could see them, but they shouldn't be in the way of anyone needing the bank. They had a lovely view of Diagon Alley, if you liked that sort of thing. The day was warm and sunny, with clouds to the west that hinted of rain to come later. But for now, the weather was perfect.

They didn't bother unpacking the basket. There was little enough in there, and none of it magically shrunk. Draco opened the lid and peered in, smiling. Harry sat carefully. His arse was bare under his kilt and a bit sore after what they'd got up to in his pantry and on his bedroom floor. They'd healed his knees but he'd not felt like doing anything to his abused arse. He didn't want to give Draco the wrong idea, and—perhaps the notion was ridiculous—he just felt like leaving it as it was after he'd cleaned himself up.

"Can I feed this to you?" Harry asked, putting a sliver of Wensleydale on a whole grain wheat cracker and holding the morsel up to tease.

"Mm," Draco agreed, licking his finger. "Let me just…" and he held up a wide, pale butter cracker with a smear of caviar on top.

Harry grinned and both men gently placed a cracker into the other's open mouth. Draco kissed Harry's withdrawing fingertips. Harry felt his face warm and his cock attempt to notice, but he was too thoroughly satisfied to take that seriously right now.

"Harry Potter?"

They both turned toward the voice and Harry, wand surreptitiously drawn to hand and aimed, relaxed. It was that kid from the other day, the one who'd stared at them while they kissed. He was standing in the middle of the road, oblivious to all but the men picnicking in front of him. He wore shopclerk robes in the colours Harry usually associated with the Apothecary.

"It's that kid from the other day," Harry said unhelpfully, nudging Draco's shoulder. "Can I help you?" he called out to the shopclerk, and the boy took a few steps forward, pointing at his own chest and looking overwhelmed and hope-filled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Draco asked him quietly, finishing his wine and putting the glass down inside the picnic basket. He had his own wand in hand now as well, Harry noted distantly. Harry wasn't nervous. This kid was gay and terrified, Harry could practically smell it.

"Reaching out to help somebody. Go with it," Harry replied quietly to Draco. Then he smiled encouragingly at the kid and beckoned to him with his empty hand. "Yeah!" he said, trying to sound kind and unthreatening, like he was coaxing something half wild. "Come on over!"

The gangly boy walked around the base of Gringott's steps and—when Harry motioned and then motioned again—sat down a few steps away from the picnic, looking nervous. "I, er, just got off work," he said. "And I, er, saw you. Um, two. I saw you two. Again."

"I thought I recognized you from the other day," Harry said, smiling. "You were watching us kiss." He turned and smiled at Draco for a moment, and Draco grinned toothily. When Harry turned back to the kid, he'd gone brick red.

"Hey," Harry said, feeling more serious. "Is something the matter?"

"Er, no!" the boy spluttered, looking more uncomfortable every moment. He started to stand. "I shouldn't have bothered you, I…"

"What's your name?" Draco asked him, but instead of answering the boy turned around. A middle-aged witch, Harry thought she looked like an older, female version of the boy, was barreling right for the three of them and yelping "Sheldon!"

_That must be his mum…_ Harry realized, and wondered what the hell he'd got himself into.

"Are you, er, areyougay?" Sheldon bleated quickly before his mother could hear him. He looked thoroughly miserable, and yet brave enough to approach, brave enough to ask.

Harry leaned forward, taking Draco's hand in his own. "Yes," he said firmly. He wasn't quiet. The woman might even have overheard him, he thought, but he wanted to be sure. He waited until she stopped right behind her son before he continued.

"I am gay, Sheldon. I'm homosexual," Harry reiterated, speaking to Sheldon but wanting Sheldon's mother to understand even if she didn't know the modern slang. "This is my new boyfriend." There now. All that together was oddly put, but surely unmistakable?

Sheldon's mother stared at Harry for a long moment, looking solemn. Harry looked back at her, right in the eye, wondering what was going on behind the impenetrable eyes, the shock-straight spine, the ordinary robes.

"That's right," she finally agreed, standing very stiffly and looking uncomfortable.

"Harry Potter himself is a homosexual." She spoke so slowly, enunciating everything like she was cutting it with a knife.

"He has a boyfriend." Was she convincing herself? Showing Sheldon how she felt about it all?

"They are sitting right here in front of the whole world having a picnic on a nice April day." Her shoulders went down a little, like she was feeling more able to cope. She took another deep breath and looked into Harry's eyes, nodding slightly.

Harry nodded back, hoping he was reading her right. Draco squeezed his hand.

"And I am sure—" she continued. Her words and tone and bearing were all still forced. Yet at the same time she was clearly proud of her son. Harry thought this had to take a lot of courage; he had a sudden vision of her in Gryffindor robes, "—that your mother and father would have loved you just the same, had they not died at You-Know-Who's hand all those years ago."

She turned to Sheldon and her eyes softened considerably. Sheldon turned his face up to his mother's and looked red and frightened and full of hope. Harry thought it had to hurt, feeling all of that at once.

"Because," she said, a choked undertone coming into her voice, "good mothers love their sons always, no matter what, and Lily Potter was a good mother." She'd begun speaking more normally, sounding—not relaxed—but not miserable or stressed, either. "We all know that, don't we Sheldon?"

She held her hand out and Sheldon stood up and took it for a moment, squeezing before letting go. "Of course, Mum."

He turned back to Harry and Draco and looked significantly less miserable. "Er," he began. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. May I introduce my mother? Maruleen Sodaloe. I'm sorry to have bothered you and your, um, boyfriend."

"Our pleasure," Draco responded this time. "We knew people would see us here. That's part of why we came, really. It was nice to meet you, Sheldon, Mrs Sodaloe. Would you like some cheese?"

Sheldon's mother smiled and seemed about to decline politely when Skeeter and her photographer _Apparated _ onto the bottom step in front of the bank. "Potter!" Skeeter screeched. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy shamelessly canoodling again! In front of innocents! John," she turned to the photographer, who winked at Harry. "Get as many shots as you can before those cowardly poofs _Apparate_ out of here!"

Harry bristled and began to stand, but it was Mrs Sodaloe who rose to the occasion. "Rita Skeeter," she dripped, her voice icy. "As I live and breathe."

Skeeter seemed to think she'd found an admirer. She walked up to Sheldon's mother, hand outstretched. A huge grin splitting her avaricious face. "Fan?" she asked pointedly. "Would you like an autograph?"

"I would _not_," Mrs Sodaloe responded, sounding disgusted. Her hands stayed down, pressed flat to her robes. "I think you are the worst example of the worst sort of witch. I'm appalled by the way you've treated Mr Potter here."

"Oh?" Skeeter asked, offended. She put her hand halfway back down, then ran it awkwardly through her hair. "When did you come to this conclusion?"

"Just now," Sheldon's mother said, unembarrassed. "When I really understood the whole story."

Harry grinned and helped Draco stand up. They stood next to one another and let Mrs Sodaloe hand Skeeter her own head.

"I used to enjoy what you wrote. I've read both of your books and I've been reading your articles for years. I allowed you to titillate and amuse me, somehow never stopping to think about those you hurt and slandered. But now that my own son…. just this afternoon I've seen something that helps me see what a destructive, uncaring, force for… for evil you are in our world."

Skeeter looked shocked and John's huge smoky flash went off, making them all blink and cough.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter," Sheldon's mother said, turning away from Skeeter and her photographer. "If you'll excuse us? Sheldon and I need to get home to prepare for his little sister's birthday dinner."

Sheldon looked chagrinned and stood closer to his mother, wand now visible in his hand. "Floo or _Apparate_, Mum?" he asked, and when his mother said, "Floo I think. I'm feeling a bit drained all of a sudden," the two of them headed off toward the Leaky's public Floo leaving Harry, Draco, Skeeter and John the photographer all staring at each other.

"Er, want some cheese, John?" Harry finally asked, and John grinned widely.

"No thanks, mate," he said easily. "Got a story to write and file in a hurry. Ta!" And he vanished with a loud crack. Skeeter stared at Harry for a long moment and then she, too, _Apparated_ out loudly, without further comment.

"I can hardly wait to see tomorrow's paper," Draco said to Harry, and sat down again. "More wine?"

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Harry woke warm, naked, and as alone as always. His brown and cream wool blanket felt too warm and a little itchy, and he shoved it down, annoyed. It was early. The sun was piercing his eyes even through the long, indigo curtains as it kicked up angrily over the horizon and Harry rolled over and glared at the wall. Draco had refused to kiss him goodbye. Draco had refused to Floo home with him. Draco had _Apparated_ home alone and refused to make another date with him.

Draco was leading him on. Draco was working too hard for a relationship. Draco was worried that being seen with Harry was going to be bad for business. Draco was worried that pretending to date Harry was going to get him killed. Draco could be thinking any, all, or none of those things and Harry wouldn't even fucking know because Draco wouldn't even fucking talk to him.

He sighed when he realized he had to piss. _I need to stop drinking anything after six in the evening, especially water,_ he decreed unrealistically as he stomped to the bathroom, scratching his balls and wanting his wand. He pissed voluminously and scratched his balls again and accidentally yanked out a pubic hair with a ragged fingernail. "Ouch!" he yelped, knowing it actually hadn't hurt that much. He just felt like shouting.

He refused to look at the mirror while he washed his hands. He probably had a spot.

Then he dragged on his dressing gown, fetched his wand by hand, and pounded down the stairs to await Pepper and the mother fucking newspaper.

There were shells in the scrambled eggs.

He broke a plate and his _Reparo_ sucked, leaving an invisible fault line across the middle of the plate that his knife scraped and whined on distractingly.

He'd awakened far too fucking early and would have to wait forever for Pepper to come with the damn newspaper.

Finally Pepper flew in through the window he'd opened for her. He'd been staring out into the softening sunshine for a long, dead space and completely lost track of time.

Pepper happily accepted a treat and a double payment to make up for a missed day, then flew off after he stroked her soft head. He could have petted her for far longer and regretted that she wouldn't be coming home to him later. He vowed to talk to Corazon about buying Pepper the very next time he could find or make the chance. He'd been without an owl far too long, and Pepper seemed to like him.

He took a deep breath and opened the newspaper up, looking for his own face. He wasn't on the front page, but he didn't have to look far to find what he was looking for.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*2010*b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

The Opinions and Editorials page of today's _Daily Prophet_ is an unusual choice for this newspaper. We present today two differing opinions, and one photograph, regarding an incident that occurred yesterday in front of Gringotts Bank.

  
  
  


> Saturday April 26, 2003  
>  John Oxford 
> 
> Yesterday dozens of upstanding shoppers, businessmen and other innocent citizens enjoying the lovely weather on Diagon Alley were treated to the pleasant sight of Harry Potter picnicking with his handsome new boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.
> 
> There were no outraged parents, no furious shop keepers, no riots in the face of their mild audacity. As it happens, there was no negativity at all, until a reporter appeared and attempted to manufacture some.
> 
> That reporter interrupted a conversation between Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and two private citizens, a mother and son, who had stopped to chat with the men picnicking near the Gringotts' steps. This photographer did not overhear that conversation or catch the name of the people Potter and Malfoy were talking with.
> 
> Potter and Malfoy later refused to reveal the names of the mother and son. But this photographer was able to capture a photograph of Rita Skeeter receiving the greatest dressing down he has witnessed in many a month.
> 
> Citizens, Harry Potter's love life does not concern us. If he wishes to date men, even if he wishes to date men with shadowy pasts, his love life does not concern us. Mr Harry Potter gave his very life for us, and he now wishes to be left alone. Does he not deserve our consideration? Does he not deserve our respect? Does he not deserve his very privacy?
> 
> Years ago now, Mr Potter chose not to join the Auror programme. We all know this, but why? He has offered multiple reasons in the half dozen or so interviews he has granted since he finished Hogwarts: not enough N.E.W.T.s, a fear of attracting the wrong sort of attention to the Auror department, needing a break from fighting the forces of evil and darkness.
> 
> I believe that if we read between the lines we can see that Mr Potter desired a break from fighting off the wrong sort of attention towards himself.
> 
> What has Mr Potter concerned himself with since the end of the second war? Orphans. Friends of many years standing. His home. As far as this newspaper is aware he has dated no one seriously since he broke up with Miss Weasley: a woman who still appears to regard him as a close friend, if their work together at the Fred Weasley Memorial Snorphanage is to be properly understood.
> 
> Mr Potter, in short, has become a near hermit.
> 
> And who is to blame for this sad state of affairs? We are. The wizarding citizens of Britain who follow him around, pester him for autographs, and—most egregiously—insist that we know what he wants and needs better than he himself does.
> 
> If the Weasley family doesn't agree with the newspaper's analysis of Mr Potter's present and future, and we all know they do not, then why can this newspaper not let him go and seek more willing targets?
> 
> This photographer, for one, refuses to bother Mr Potter again.

  
|    


> Saturday April 26, 2003  
>  Rita Skeeter
> 
> Yesterday dozens of upstanding shoppers, businessmen and other innocent, law abiding citizens were forced to see something no child, no adult, and frankly, no morally straight person should be forced to see.
> 
> Homosexual behavior. It is unnatural, it is immoral, it is indecent, and it is illegal. It corrupts the young, shocks the old and taints the married. Even when Mr Harry Potter himself does it. The "lifestyle" holds no value, no benefit, no connections to the past or future. It will not make him happy. It will not bring him joy.
> 
> This reporter did not invent this point of view. _The Daily Prophet_ did not. The Ministry for Magic did not. We all know homosexuality is wrong upon the face of it. Where will children come from if homosexuality is tolerated? Who will protect children from homosexual predators if homosexuality is tolerated? It is a scourge upon our society and we must not whitewash it. All magical citizens have a duty to marry and produce children, or we will die out.
> 
> Harry Potter has been an attention-seeker his entire life. He has always sought the eye of the camera, the love of the people, the attention of all. Now that we have ceased to feed his ego with constant strokes and adoration, he appears with the most controversial possible "boyfriend" solely to garner attention.
> 
> Harry Potter must be stopped. It is patently obvious to anyone that Harry Potter is not homosexual. The saviour of the world a limp-wristed poofter? How clearly manufactured. How obviously imaginary.
> 
> No, Harry Potter is simply screaming into the night again, pleading for us to look at him, pat him, talk about him, discuss him through the Floo and at the corner and over the dinner table. And here we are, doing just that! Shame on us.
> 
> But also, shame on Harry Potter. Shame on him! For these actions—like all actions—have consequences. And the consequence of this revolting behavior is that children, _children_! are going to think that homosexuality is acceptable. Their hero himself is espousing it!
> 
> The slope leading downwards into immorality, and the ultimate destruction of society, is a slippery one. Soon our children will be claiming that all manner of nonsense is acceptable, desirable, heroic! We will lose them as they slide down, all the way to depravity, lawlessness and eventually their complete corruption.
> 
> Our children, impressionable and precious, our most sacred resource. It pains me to say it, but say it I must. They are in terrible danger of being seduced to a selfish, evil existence.
> 
> We must save them. We must save them from Harry Potter. We must save them from themselves.
> 
> Please, won't somebody think of the children?

  
  
---|---  
  
"Harry? Harry are you there?"

"Hermione? Is that you? Hang on, I'll be there in a jiff."

Harry folded up his newspaper, extricated himself from his favourite reading chair and re-tied his dressing gown to assure himself some modesty. Then he walked around the corner and knelt before his Floo. "Hermione! Long time no see! How are you?"

"It's only been a few weeks, Harry," she corrected with a smile. "And I am doing wonderfully! I finally have the grant proposals ready to send to the Ministry and Roger and I hoped you'd come out to the park to celebrate with us? We haven't told the children yet, but you know they all want to see you."

Harry felt a small twist in his belly. The park? With children? After those editorials? Hermione's ideas were still usually better than his, but right now he felt a little raw. "I…" he sat down lotus-style in front of the Floo and rested his chin in his hands.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione puppy-dogged, "please don't say no! We want to make an afternoon of it: swimming at the park, picnic on the Hogsmeade common, ice cream at Fortescue's! Roger thought we could invite Bill and Fleur and their three, Andromeda could bring Teddy along, and with all those adults we should be able to bring all the kids from the Snorphanage…."

Harry tipped his head and looked into Hermione's eyes for a long moment. They knew each other well enough after all these years. No need to ruin his argument with poorly phrased protests. He just stared at her. It didn't take long at all before she dropped her gaze. He still remained silent. "Saw right through me, did you?" she finally asked.

"We can't fix it all. Not just the two of us, Hermione." She glared at him. "Okay," he backtracked, "not _today_ we can't."

"Harry," she began, and paused.

"Yes, yes," he said, rolling his eyes. "Voldemort. I know!"

"I wasn't going to say it!" She laughed. "Look, I know changing a lot of minds is a completely different exercise, but… that first editorial, Harry, that man had some valid points. Wouldn't it be nice to take up a cause again? To fight for someone besides yourself?" Her eyebrows were up so high they'd got lost in her hair.

"I know no one ever prosecutes these cases, but as that foul bitch reminded me, it's still _illegal_ for you and Draco to do… most things. Don't you want to help change that?"

Harry sighed with frustration.

"You've been hiding away from the world, old friend. You've been resting for a long time. If you can't do this for you, can't you do it for other gay witches and wizards?"

Harry put his head in his hands for a moment and then looked up at Hermione, eyes wet. Gaze naked and unbroken. "Hermione, you have no idea. Ever since I started this thing with Draco, it's like gay people have been climbing out of the _walls_ to find me. There was this woman at the _Prophet_, and this kid on Diagon Alley, the one whose mum ended up in the paper? Not to mention this great Muggle I've been buying all these flowers from. Plus Draco himself, obviously. And me! And it's like they all need me to blaze this trail and I thought I wanted to but now I can't figure out if I should or not anymore! I mean, holy hell!"

He hit the side of the fireplace with his fist and took a deep breath. Hermione motioned at him and he scooted backwards so she could climb through. She sat next to him on the floor and put a hand on one of his knees, but didn't say a word.

"Rita's article today was just… it's like it burned my _eyes_! And before I did this, it's like there were gay witches and wizards, and people said nasty things but mostly ignored it, and … like if no one asks then no one has to talk about it and we can all pretend it isn't there, right? And now I wonder if I've gone and ruined the truce or something?"

"Harry," Hermione sighed and looked at the floor for a moment. "That 'truce' you are talking about was destroying people. And you know it, too."

Harry stared at the floor, hard. Half hoped it would start to smoke so he wouldn't have to stick with this conversation. "I know things have been bad, Hermione. I know things are worse for most gay people than they are for me, but… and I don't think being gay is immoral, of course I don't! Or that it hurts children. Hell, what about the _gay_ children? But… I really was trying to get all that attention she says I want. That's why Draco and I went out. To get the papers to finally acknowledge that I'm _gay._"

"I know, love." Hermione said softly, and squeezed his knee. "George told me. But that does _not_ invalidate your position. The press were slandering you. You'd run out of options. That doesn't change the reality of the situation, Harry. You are _not_ normally an attention seeker. They've been lying about that since the Tri-Wizard!

"It's time for the wizarding world to catch up with the Muggle world on this one, Harry, and you can help. You can do so much _good_ here, just by being yourself. Rita Skeeter and her horrible little column today… she's like the dying whine, the death rattle of something that we should have slaughtered a long time ago."

Hermione squeezed Harry's knee and then wormed around to face him. She grabbed his other knee and squeezed them both. "It's time to be brave again, Harry. Be brave with people who love you. Let us stand with you. All right? Come out with us. We'll bring our children. And our wands. We'll make a stand, we'll eat some ice cream. We might even have some fun."

Harry stared miserably at Hermione's left cheek, avoiding her eyes. "Oh what the hell," he finally said when she refused to take anything back. "If you and Roger think it's a good idea…" he trailed off, uncertain. Then he smiled and squared his shoulders. "Sure, Hermione. That sounds great. You go home. I'll be over in a few minutes."

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427298/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Harry stepped out of his Floo. "I really do have the best friends in the world," he reassured himself quietly as he took his still damp, _shrunken_ swimsuit out of his pocket. He restored it to normal size and hung it on a hook in his mud room. It left a wet patch over Harry's left hip, where it had been in the pocket of his shorts.

Thinking of messy clothes, Harry remembered how Roger and Hermione's youngest, Calliope, had insisted upon eating her cone in Harry's lap. Harry had allowed it of course, even though she wasn't the most cautious or temperate child.

Harry smiled wryly as he thought about the way Calliope had seen a pretty bird, turned to point and yell, and smacked right into Harry's left pec with her experimental new ice cream flavour.

Harry looked down and saw that, just as he'd expected, Roger's attempt to get that stain off Harry's chest hadn't worked well. Harry shot his own cleaning spell at it but it didn't do much good, either. He sighed as he decided he'd have to wash the golden residue out by hand later.

Florian Fortescue's son and successor had insisted on giving Calliope golden chocolate marshmallow ice cream. He'd said it matched her golden smile.

The trip to the pool had been wonderful. Flying kites had been exhausting but a great deal of energetic fun. And Finglass Fortescue had been perfect when they went to Diagon Alley after they left the pool.

But not everyone they had run into had been perfect or even close to it. Harry'd continually expected a friend to suggest that they take their little party to someone's home, or into the Muggle world. Anything to prevent them from having to deal with yet another heckler, with yet another rude opinion.

The negative, intrusive attention from strangers had been difficult at times, but his friends had all shielded him, and the children, quite effectively. Andromeda, Bill, Hermione… they'd all presented this completely united front against the few people brave, or aggressive, or stupid enough to approach their group with anything other than unconditional support.

There were the jerks who yelled at them about how Harry was _not to be trusted!_ around the very children the heckler was in danger of frightening.

There were those who'd snorted loudly how Harry _should find a wife and make babies, pronto!_ They clearly didn't think that helping to run an orphanage or entertain your friends' children on a beautiful spring day held value.

Then there were the ones who'd gone on about how Harry _could never be happy living that selfish, empty existence alone and without meaningful connection_. People who couldn't see that Harry was in the midst of a large group of loving, supportive friends and the children they were raising.

Harry stuck his head in the pantry and frowned at the leftovers waiting there. He was hungry but nothing looked good and he was in no mood to cook. Too tired from throwing kids into the pool off his shoulders, wiping ice cream off faces and helping a kite stay aloft "the Muggle way, Harry! It's no fun when you use magic on it!"

"May I come through?" he heard softly from his Floo, and turned to see Draco's head, outlined in green and waiting patiently. He stood slowly as he turned. He was glad to see Draco, but he was tired, damp and sticky; he smelled like a swimming pool; he was dressed for a day in the park with twenty kids and seven adults. But who was he kidding? He motioned and Draco vanished for a moment, then step-twisted elegantly out of the fireplace and brushed away a bit of ash from the sleeve of his Muggle suit jacket.

He looked good.

"Hullo, Draco," he offered, and smiled. He hoped the smile looked more "tired" than "half-hearted," but he wouldn't have placed a galleon on the bet.

"'Where were you all day' sounds terrible, I know, but… I _was_ wondering, actually. I tried to find you a few times but wasn't able." Draco looked a little pink around the edges but didn't break eye contact.

Harry felt like an arse. "I'm sorry," he began. "I went out with a group of friends, and I imagine we changed locations enough that no owl could have reached me. I should have let you know my plans—"

Draco made a dismissive gesture but Harry kept speaking. "—after what ended up in the newspaper this morning. I apologize. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Not yet," Draco said slowly, and squared his shoulders. "Thank you. I'd like to take you out to dinner. Somewhere extremely private. I know this place in Dublin that would suit. They have an almost exclusively Muggle clientele but there's Floo access in the empty flat right above the restaurant. I hope you'll let me treat you to dinner there? I don't think we'll be disturbed."

Harry looked at Draco and tried to think of something to say. "I smell cruddy," and "I'm really tired," and "You were a real arse to me after yesterday's picnic," all seemed to strike a sour note, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't.

"I need to apologize for yesterday afternoon," Draco said, and he seemed to have moved his gaze from Harry's eyes to Harry's forehead. "My business has been a bit crazy and I was somewhat desperate to get back to it. And actually, I took a rather large step this afternoon to accommodate my new situation."

Harry tried to make an encouraging motion with his hand, and sat at his kitchen table.

Draco sat near him and folded his hands on top of the table. His back was rigid. He was taller than Harry, even when they were both seated. "You see," he began slowly," I was both right and wrong about what our… media campaign would mean for my business. There has been backlash. I've had to put a lot more energy into my wards, though they've held without flaw or glitch so far. And the mail has tripled and a great deal of it has been… negative."

Draco paused but Harry couldn't think of a thing to say.

"But I've also had a large increase in orders. Wheezes was just the beginning. Hogwarts tripled their usual monthly stock-up order, rather like you predicted, and that new hand and foot cream I was testing proved a success in the lab. So I sent out a few samples. Three businesses placed orders that were a bit larger than I expected for a trial run of a new product line."

Harry put his chin in both hands and looked at Draco. "Yeah?" he said to encourage.

"So today, and I'll admit it was practically on a whim, I interviewed Sheldon Sodaloe for a position as my assistant. He's been working at the apothecary on Diagon Alley full time since he finished Hogwarts last June, and he had very respectable N.E.W.T.s including an exceeds expectations in potions, which I was quite pleased to see…"

He drifted off but Harry didn't speak.

"So I expect I shall offer him a position tomorrow. If you think that sounds wise."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Not in the sense that I am asking your permission, of course," Draco backtracked. "But in the sense that you should tell me if you think it would reflect badly on us, or perhaps even be dangerous to him? And I was hoping we could discuss this over dinner, actually, as I've not had a thing since eleven-thirty this morning," Draco finished, looking a bit glum.

"I was just thinking that I was hungry," Harry admitted. "But I think I know a more private place than that restaurant in Dublin."

Draco tipped his head and waited.

"Here." Harry said. "My own house. Let's order in some take away, all right? I'm really quite hungry and tired. I don't feel like dressing up for an evening out. I spent the whole day outside playing with a huge group of overexcited children and watching my amazing friends fight off jerks so I could pretend everything was normal."

"I, of course, Harry. If that's what you would like." Draco paused and Harry tipped his head, wondering who was supposed to do what, now.

Draco seemed to think the ball was in his court. "Can I treat you to Thai Dragon? I like their food a lot, and their service has always been good."

"Sure," Harry said, and smiled. He knew that place, too but hadn't had their food in months. "That sounds great. Order whatever you like, all right?" He stood and Draco stood up as well. Their chairs scraped against the floor in harmony. "I'm easy," Harry said, thinking of noodles and smiling. He stretched and felt his muscles whine and his spine unkink. "With Asian food I like everything. It's all good."

Harry moved toward the stairs. "Do you mind if I shower? I smell like swimming pool and Fortescue's crazy ice cream."

Draco tipped his head down and his hair fell over his eyes. Harry wondered if Draco was deliberately hiding his eyes but decided to let it go. He was eager for his shower. "Go right ahead," Draco said, sounding easy and relaxed. "I'll just plan out a menu and contact them through your Floo?"

"Sounds perfect," Harry said, striding toward his staircase. "I'll hurry."

Once in his room Harry stripped off his clothes and dumped them on the floor in front of his ensuite. He needed to hurry up, the food would probably be here in fifteen or twenty minutes. He turned on the water and looked into his mirror while he waited for the shower to heat. He popped one small spot and healed the irritation. The shower seemed ready and he stuck in a foot, then stepped in and drenched his hair. _Ahh… so good to just relax in the heat and steam…._

So… Draco's business was expanding enough that he wanted to hire some help. Perhaps, if Sheldon worked out, Harry would be able to spend more time with Draco. What a fine thing that would be! In theory. Who knew what he and Draco would be like together for more than a few hours, especially when they weren't "on" for the damned press. Still, Harry knew he wanted to give this a try.

He grabbed his favourite shampoo and put some on his head, letting the water pound on his back. The last time he'd thrown an eight year old off his shoulders into the pool, he might have just hurt himself. He reached around and began to press on his left shoulder. It felt good, but he needed to finish washing his hair. He sighed and went back to that.

It might be odd to have Sheldon at Draco's lab. He'd looked at the two of them with such naked longing that first time. Was he attracted to Draco? Harry snorted at the very question. What gay man wasn't? And although Harry might not be averse to a threesome, he was not interested in sex with a kid fresh out of Hogwarts. He liked a man with a little experience. So there was that to think about.

He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and started when he suddenly got cold. Then Draco's hands were rubbing his shoulders and Draco's voice was in his ear. "I've ordered the food and paid for it. They'll just send it through the Floo with warming charms on when it is ready. And you looked like you could use a bit of a rub. Yes?"

Harry let Draco's hands dig deep under his shoulder blades. His head was dangling down and the water felt heavenly. "How did you sneak in here? Did you _Silence_ your feet?"

Draco's chuckle was warm and deep. It went straight to Harry's cock, which began to stiffen though nothing was touching it other than the shower's hot spray. "Exactly, Harry. But surely this was the obvious next move? Hell, I thought you were hinting."

"Subconsciously, perhaps," Harry admitted. "I was pretty pissed off after you and I parted ways yesterday."

Draco's fingers were turning Harry into putty everywhere but between his legs, where he was almost done going the other direction.

"I… knew that," Draco said quietly into Harry's ear. His thumbs dug deep into Harry's muscles. "I apologize. That's really what this is all about. Needing to apologize."

"You keep that backrub up and I'll accept your apology without realizing what I'm doing," Harry joked.

"Feels good, then? "Draco said, and stepped closer, pressing his heavy erection into the crack of Harry's arse.

"Yeah…" Harry moaned and reached up for the wall.

"I want to be inside you, Harry," Draco said throatily. He tasted the side of Harry's neck.

Harry groaned. "Yes," he agreed, and leaned his head back against Draco's shoulder. Draco's hands came up around Harry's pecs and curled around Harry's chest.

Draco bit him lightly, then murmured words Harry could hardly hear. "I haven't seen you naked before. This is the first time I've had all of you, laid out for me like this, my very own feast. I want to eat you up slowly, Harry."

Harry backed into Draco and rubbed his arse cheeks against Draco's cock. It slipped in between his cheeks, full and upright and teasing. "After dinner then?" Harry asked.

"That too," Draco agreed and gently turned Harry around and pushed him against the wall. "I need something now." He smiled, and knelt in front of Harry's bobbing cock.

"Oh fuck," Harry moaned as Draco teased at the head of Harry's dick, fleeting the tip of his tongue in and out of the slit.

"I'll forgive you the obvious opening, Harry," Draco said flirtatiously, "and spare you the pun." Then he pressed his hands on Harry's hips and began to suck Harry's cock. First hard and fast, then pausing to quiver his tongue from side to side or just vary the pressure in his mouth before getting back to a purposeful rhythm; sliding his mouth down deep over Harry's cock and then backing off only to do it again and again and again.

Harry put his hands in Draco's wet hair and opened his eyes to watch as well as feel. He was too tired to hold himself in check, and he was going to start begging for a cock in his arse—or beg to come, and soon. Draco was doing everything right. He could suck a snitch through a garden hose, his mouth and tongue were _everywhere_. Harry would have sworn under oath the man had _Vanished_ his teeth temporarily—except of course when he would titillate Harry with a hint and then take them away again. His control was overwhelming. But mostly, he was Draco Malfoy, and he was on his knees in the shower, sucking Harry Potter's cock.

"Can I come in your mouth?" Harry whispered before he whined, wondering if Draco would even hear him over the water. He must have, because he caught Harry's eye and nodded his head a bit, which looked weird since he had most of Harry's cock in his face. Harry smiled and Draco's eyes crinkled and then closed. He looked like he loved to suck cock.

"Good," Harry moaned. "I'm going to." Draco's mouth was soft and hot and the pressure and sucking were sharply satisfying.

"Good," Draco repeated around his mouthful. "I'm hungry." He winked and reached down to pull on Harry's sac and Harry felt his orgasm building in his belly and balls, threatening to buckle his knees. He grabbed at Draco's hair and Draco moaned around his cock. Moaned, perhaps, at the pain and the possessiveness of the gesture. The thought made Harry thrust into Draco's mouth and his come sprayed down Draco's eager throat, or so it felt.

He moaned, feeling drained as a wineskin after a festival. "Tired," he confessed, and Draco stood up, cock bouncing between them, licking his lips with a sly, satisfied grin.

"Put on your dressing gown," Draco said, stepping out of the shower and handing Harry his towel. "I'll see if dinner is here yet and I'll bring it upstairs. We can eat in here if that's all right?"

Harry smiled and started to dry off, then he reached for Draco's unsatisfied erection and stroked it. "Oh yes," he said, stepping closer to better reach his lover's skin and hear his reaction, "that's all right. And when we've eaten, we'll get back to where we left off."

Harry dried off quickly and put on his dressing gown, as directed. Then he found his extra and laid it out for Draco, who returned quickly with three steaming white cartons and two sets of chopsticks. He put them on the bed between them. "I didn't want to rummage through your things to find the plates and such," he said as he got onto the bed, quite close to Harry. Draco's cock had gone mostly soft and Harry looked at it wistfully just before Draco dragged the dressing gown over his lap like a tablecloth. "I hope this is good enough?"

"It looks fine," Harry said, and opened a carton of what turned out to be steamed brown rice.

There was pad thai and a curried seafood dish as well, and—leaving the box on the bed—Harry picked up a large prawn with his chopsticks and offered it to Draco.

"For me?" Draco murmured, and ate the thing in one nip, right off Harry's sticks.

"I like seeing the water dripping out of your hair," Harry admitted, and reached over with his chopsticks to grab a large haul of noodles and vegetables—stuffing them into his mouth before he could say anything else too sappy. "Mm!" he said around the food, pleased. He swallowed it and smiled. "This pad thai is delicious."

"Good. What else do you like?" Draco asked, and reclined halfway down, leaning on an elbow.

"The way you suck my cock," Harry purred.

"Mm," Draco smiled. "I like that, too."

Suddenly Harry was ravenous. "I like the things we talked about doing after dinner," he said, grabbing a carton and digging his chopsticks in.

"Oh?" Draco asked, and grabbed the other carton. "Then please," he tipped his head toward Harry's carton. "Eat, by all means." His smile was feline and Harry grinned to see it. He'd never dreamed when he woke this morning that today could turn out so excellent.

Draco looked remarkably relaxed while he seemingly inhaled his food. Harry knew he didn't look elegant, but he, too, ate quickly. They kept their conversation minimal but did agree that Sheldon seemed like an excellent choice to assist in Draco's business.

When there were only two prawns and some water chestnuts left in the box of curried seafood, Harry looked over into Draco's carton. It, too, was almost empty. He took the smaller prawn and ate it slowly, trying to get Draco's attention.

It didn't take long before Draco pouted at him. "Is that the last prawn?"

Harry shook his head no and swallowed the last of it. "No," he said, and took the remaining, larger prawn up with his chopsticks. It dripped sauce back into the carton so Harry picked that up in his other hand and brought them both to Draco's mouth. "This is."

"For me?" Draco murmured, looking at the offering.

"Mm hm, but you'd better eat it quick," Harry teased.

Draco licked at the drop of sauce threatening to escape from the end of the prawn and Harry watched his tongue. "Quickly?" Draco asked in an innocent tone. But he dipped his head underneath and nibbled off just the end of the prawn.

"Oh yes," Harry agreed as he lay down, the chopsticks still dangling the little treat over Draco's lips. "Or I'll eat it."

"I like watching you eat." Draco smiled. He took another nip off the prawn. There was only one bite left now, as Harry ate prawns, but as Draco was doing it, there were at least two.

"That's nice," Harry said slowly, "but I want you to fuck me."

Draco grinned Cheshire style and Harry thought his whole face might actually disappear behind it.

"And then," Harry caught Draco's eye, "I want to fuck you."

Draco's right eyebrow went up but he took the rest of the prawn into his mouth and swallowed it before Harry was aware. Then he plucked the carton from Harry's hand and tossed it into the little rubbish bin next to Harry's bedside table.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" he asked, and climbed half over Harry to put the nearly untouched carton of brown rice on the bedside table.

He settled his body over Harry's, now flat on the bed. The dressing gowns were stretched and tangled between them. Harry wanted them gone.

"For me to open the curtains, I think," Harry decided out loud, and reached for his wand. "I want to see all of you, too."

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After they had enjoyed each other very thoroughly, Harry and Draco finished the brown rice and fell asleep under the wool blanket in the light of the setting sun. They left the curtains open, the better to enjoy the sunset while entwined.

Harry woke a few hours later in the pitch black of night, but the clock declared it was not quite eleven pm. His eyes started to adjust and he knew he should try to go back to sleep, but he left them open.

Still fast asleep, Draco turned and tucked his head against Harry's chest and Harry felt something break open and spill nervous happiness throughout his insides. _Oh shit. I'm in for it now_, he realized with some dismay, but he put his arms around the man he'd so eagerly taken to bed.

"Mm?" Draco said, nuzzling roughly against Harry's chest. His beard might be hard to see, but so many hours after he'd last shaved, Harry could certainly feel it. Especially against his nipple.

"Mm," Harry responded noncommittally, hoping Draco would just go back to sleep. He worked so hard and such long hours, he probably needed it. But Draco's eyes opened and Harry saw that he'd truly awakened. "Hey," he said, and rubbed a palm down Draco's warm back.

"Hey," Draco said, sounding sleepy. He put a hand down around Harry's body and used it to push his mouth closer to Harry's. "How bad is your breath, do you think?" he said, and then didn't wait for an answer. Their lips came together slow and warm.

Draco's mouth was nutty and sweet and Harry hoped his was as well.

Harry opened his hand over Draco's pearled spine and pulled. Draco settled over Harry, pushing Harry's shorter, slightly broader body into the mattress. They rubbed against each other slowly, lips to lips, belly to belly, cock to cock. Harry stroked his hands up Draco's back, then cupped his delicious bum. They were fully hard again and Harry wanted this fuck to be more than just a slow and tired offering. They'd been explosive together so far, every time. This could be good too, if he was creative.

He reached in between them and grasped both of their erections together in his hand.

"Good…" Draco groaned into Harry's mouth. "So damn good."

"I want our come all over us," Harry murmured, nipping gently at Draco's cheek, then his ear, then his neck. "Fuck my hand."

Draco sped his thrusts and Harry's eyes closed involuntarily. Their foreskins rubbed at each other. Draco's tightening balls rubbed Harry's cock. Their hair and skin and pre-come moved together into a maelstrom of overwhelming sensation. Harry licked at the sweaty cord of Draco's neck and held on to their cocks. Draco sped up again.

Harry bent his knees; got them a little further out. That brought Draco's cock into firmer, harder contact with his own. Draco's face slipped next to Harry's, his breath hard and fast in Harry's ear.

"Yeah…" Draco groaned quietly. His thrusts were perfect force, perfect speed.

Harry's answer was a high pitched whine. The orgasm was building hard and fast inside his balls, his belly. "Gonna come!"

"Come on me," Draco moaned; a heady, hot whisper in Harry's ear.

Harry's cock began to erupt, a mess of heat and liquid between their bellies. All over his hand. He spread as much as he could on Draco's dick and grabbed hard at Draco's beautiful arse.

"Gnnnnuh!" Draco whined incoherently and started to add his own contribution to the mess between their bodies. Harry held on to their cocks despite the increased slickness and stroked Draco's arse with his other hand, wishing he were in there now, fucking that tight heat.

Soon Draco slowed their frenetic pace. His lips found Harry's again and it was so delicious. Harry never wanted to stop. Draco rolled off and cuddled close, his arms around Harry, his lips tasting Harry's, his hands stroking and finding.

Then he pulled away and stroked Harry's hair away from his face. Harry found he liked the gesture far too much.

Draco turned his head toward the clock and sighed. "I should sleep in my own bed," he said, sounding regretful. "I'll miss the alarms I've set on the overnight potions if I stay here."

"Do you have to do it that way?" Harry asked, curious and refusing to admit that he was also hopeful. He grabbed his wand off the bedside table and cocked his head at Draco, eyes flicking to the congealing mess they'd made. Draco smiled and Harry muttered the charm and waved the mess away.

"No," Draco said, smiling. "And if I hire Sheldon I almost certainly won't. But I did tonight, so…" he trailed off and put a hand, sleep-hot and once again relaxed, onto Harry's chest.

"I think you should hire Sheldon."

Draco smiled.

"Things are busy, you need the help. Your business is very important," Harry said, hoping that sounded supportive. "Someday I hope you'll tell me the whole story of how it came to be."

"But tonight," Draco said, pulling himself away and stroking Harry's hair away from his face—

_The second time!_ Harry couldn't help but note nervously.

"—is not the time for that tale, or more sex, or much of anything that will keep me away from the lab any longer. Which is a pity, because this has been a marvellous evening. I am glad it worked out so beautifully."

"It did," Harry agreed easily. He hoped his smile looked relaxed and cool. "I want to do this again. But tonight, as you say, you need to go home. Do you remember where you left your clothes and wand?"

"I'm sure I can find them," Draco said, sounding resigned. "Turn on the lights?"

They got up and found Draco's things. Harry pulled on his dressing gown, spelling pre-come and Thai sauces from the fabric.

They walked downstairs and Harry reached for Draco to kiss him goodbye. It was sweet, but Draco kept his mouth closed, and Harry didn't push.

"Will I see you before Beltane?" Harry asked as Draco reached for the pot of Floo powder on Harry's mantle.

"I would like that very much," Draco said, "but…" and put a hand in the centre of Harry's chest, moving the dressing gown aside. Harry could feel the heat of it permeate deep into his skin.

_Yeah,_ Harry thought as his heart sank toward his guts, _got it bad now. Funny how different that feels when he's leaving, as opposed to when he's naked in my bed._

"I think," Draco continued, "that we should look a bit crazed and desperate for the cameras on Beltane. And regrettably, I think the best way to accomplish that is to stay well apart until then. Not to mention I have a bloke to hire and train, and a hell of a lot of orders to fill. Forgive me?"

The words were plaintive but the tone was not. Harry wondered at Draco's ability to slide seamlessly from business to flirtation.

"Of course," Harry said, in what he hoped was a confident tone. "Shall I meet you at the fires, or pick you up?"

"Let's meet there at ten." Draco said.

"Casual dress? Old fashioned? What do you suggest?" Harry asked, carefully smiling.

"For you?" Draco said, pulling back and away, looking Harry up and down. "Tight, well-used, blue denim trousers. And a long sleeved white Muggle shirt. The casual sort. No collar. With a Muggle saying on the chest, perhaps, or just plain. Most assuredly nothing wizard. Remind them you have a foot in another world and they could lose you. Me? Very proper robes. Authentic all the way to…" he whispered into Harry's ear and tickled him, "nothing underneath."

Then he tossed the Floo powder in the fire, called out "Malfoy Apothecary and Potion Supply!" and vanished into the spinning flames.

Harry watched him go, silently watched the fire turn from green to yellow to orange and red. One hand up on the mantle and eyes on the fire. Then he closed his Floo. He sighed and turned away. What a day. What a night! He'd never get back to sleep now.

Where was that book he'd started last week?

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Harry spent far too much of Sunday scouring London for exactly the right pair of old denims. An Oxfam shop in a dodgy neighbourhood finally proved to have just what he was looking for. Happily it only took three stores to find just the right tshirt. He almost went with a band shirt with "The Smiths" emblazoned upon it, but knew no pureblood would get the joke. Even though it had lyrics printed on the back: "I am the son and the heir…."

In the end he went with one from a different wholly Muggle band: The Beatles. The graphic was attractive, the band was still cool, but had enough longevity now that even a good percentage of purebloods had heard of them. And the variety of available tshirts was in their favour, as well.

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You know, he really did need to take apart his entire furnace and clean it. And the balance between the Muggle tech and the spells had seemed a bit off this winter. Best to take care of it immediately, now that the weather was finally warm again. He went to bed quite late on Sunday night.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427496/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Last year's garden had been very fine, but he'd been dreaming of a far larger one. Far more produce. He might get chickens, as well. But first he needed to replan out the entire yard for a new, doubly large garden. More flowers in the front. More veg in back. A better drainage system was a necessity, if he was going to double the garden's space and productivity.

Before he trundled off to the Muggle garden shop in the next village, he realized he would have to drag the truck out of the garage and fix it. That took half the day. Then he spent another three hours puttering about Adams' Nursery and Garden Store with the shopkeeper, modifying the drawings he'd made of his front and rear yards, planning out drainage issues, buying trees, shrubs, flowers and seedlings, fertilizers and nematode sponges, and generally enjoying the damp sun and pleasant, expert company.

Excited, he got started as soon as he got home, breaking only when he got too damn hungry to continue. The sun set while he ate, standing in the bay window looking out over his half begun work.

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Tuesday and Wednesday were dedicated to all the changes he'd chosen to make to his garden. It was rather exhausting, as—just as he had learned at Hogwarts—an annoyingly large number of non-magical plants responded badly to too much overt magic.

He fell asleep in his large claw footed bathtub both nights and had to drag himself off to bed after waking in lukewarm water.

But by the time he dusted his hands off and went inside to eat on Wednesday as the sun set, his gardens had been transformed. He thought, frankly, it made the house look even more inviting. Like a true home. A place worth sharing.

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On Thursday he checked over the garden carefully, pleased with his accomplishments, before walking down to the post office to talk to Corazon. Her eyes twinkled with mirth when he attempted to broach the idea of buying Pepper, and she tried to haggle the price up far too high for a middle-aged owl. Pepper quite took the wind out of Corazon's sails when she flew off her perch in the back room, landed on Harry's left shoulder, and began to groom the hair near his ear.

Corazon laughed. "Outwitted by an owl!" she declared, and sold Pepper for three quarters of the first number she'd thrown out as a counter offer.

Harry walked home with Pepper alternatively sitting on his shoulder, and flying ahead only to land on a tree and await his slow-footed catch-up.

"It will be good to share the house with you, Pepper," Harry declared. "I've missed having an owl about the place."

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After Harry got Pepper settled he went for a long run and then tried to sit in his new garden and read a book, and then the day's _Prophet_, but he didn't register much of it. He was far too distracted. Skeeter had declared a "winner" to her little "best woman for Harry Potter contest," though. Harry stared at the article and photograph without retaining much of anything. Her name was Dendra something-or-other and she looked like a nice person. Harry hoped she found a real sweetheart and turned the page.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427368/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Thursday evening, Harry began to get ready far too early. He ate dinner at six, showered again, debated aftershave for thirteen full minutes before deciding to wear two very small dabs, then put on the outfit he'd spent all those hours shopping for and spent another twenty minutes in the mirror convincing himself that the jeans and Beatles shirt really were fine as they were, and he didn't need to mess with the outfit any further.

He realized that he hadn't shaved a second time only as he raised his wand to _Apparate_ to the Ministry sponsored Beltane fires in rural Cornwall. _Hopefully Draco likes a man with a bit of stubble,_ he tried to convince himself as he spun into space and landed in a large field near what would eventually be—he suspected—a bonfire large enough to be seen from space.

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The festivities had begun, and Harry turned slowly, looking for Draco. He smelled and saw him almost simultaneously, as Draco appeared at his back and wrapped his arms around Harry's chest. Many heads turned to stare as Harry leaned his head back against Draco's shoulder and laughed with relief and delight. Perhaps it was partially for show, perhaps not, but he was going to enjoy every minute of tonight and Draco's attention.

A camera flashed and Harry closed his eyes.

Draco stepped closer and Harry could feel the man's arousal firming against the crack of Harry's arse. He slowly slid his hips to the right, the left, and Draco breathed in a bit more sharply than normal and pressed in harder.

"That for me, or the cameras?" Harry couldn't help but ask, regretting it the moment the words began to emerge.

"Yes," Draco said enigmatically. _And most accurately_, Harry grimly reminded himself, and moved his hips against Draco's erection again, enjoying the knowledge that—even with magic—a man can't fake just anything.

"Come," Draco said, pulling his cock away from Harry's arse but grabbing for Harry's hand. "Let's look around. The maypole dance was so much fun I hear they're going to do another."

They walked around the field together hand in hand for a while, pointing out elements of the festivities to one another as they noticed them. The Green Man. The second maypole dance. The people sneaking off into the woods.

Harry couldn't remember chuckling so much in one evening in a very long time.

Soon Harry took his hand from Draco's and wrapped it around his waist instead. It wasn't long before he allowed himself to sneak that hand down, seeking rounder, firmer territory. Draco had a thoroughly perfect arse. Draco followed Harry's lead and it wasn't long before they stood in front of the bonfire, blatantly stroking one another's arses. Harry's legs had spread themselves enough that Draco was teasing the edges of Harry's balls through the denims. Harry was panting and sweating and knew only some of it could be attributed to the heat of the fire they stood so close to.

People occasionally attempted to approach them, but Draco had cleverly cast wards Harry had not known even existed. It was as though they were in a glass bubble. They could see and be seen, they could hear, but no one was bothering them with intrusive interruptions or attempts to change Harry's mind about Draco specifically or men in general.

Harry thought he might have recognized John Oxford from the _Prophet_ at one point but he seemed to be true to his word that he would not photograph Harry candidly again. Other photographers were not so polite, of course, and Harry thought he saw plenty of small hand-held cameras flash in the hands of attendees, as well.

"I think that might be that Deborah who 'won' Skeeter's contest," Draco murmured into his ear at the fire. "I'll take that as my cue to sneak you off into the woods and have my way with you, I think. Stupid cow should know what she's never going to have."

Harry would have protested that it wasn't Dendra's fault, Deborah's, whatever. It was clearly Rita Skeeter's. Only Draco used the hand on Harry's arse to curl Harry in toward Draco's chest. Without taking his right hand off Harry's arse he put his left into Harry's hair and stroked the wild mass away from Harry's temple. Then he bent to meet Harry's lips with his own.

Harry pressed his hips into Draco's and put one hand on the small of Draco's back and one in Draco's hair. Their lips met, and then their warm tongues. Draco nipped lightly at Harry's lower lip and Harry let go and laughed, forehead against Draco's cheek.

The kiss was too short as kisses go, but the lewd promise inherent, and the promise even more inherent in the way Draco then grabbed Harry's hand, winked saucily, and started for the treeline, more than made up for it.

Harry could almost feel the eyes following them and experienced a deep gratitude that this would not be their first or second or third time naked in one other's arms. He could be an exhibitionist and enjoy it, but it was a distraction he would not have wanted in the way their first few times together.

They entered the forest and Draco motioned for Harry to stand still for a moment. Then he raised his wand and brought down the glass bubble. Immediately the hubbub near the fires grew noticeably louder, and Harry smiled. Draco recast the bubble, this time making it significantly larger.

"Nice spellwork," Harry praised. Then he tipped his head to one side and considered their evening. "Hey," he said. "I think… _Silencio_!" The sounds of the revelry banished and Draco smiled but didn't speak. "Now what?" Harry asked.

Draco cocked his head, thinking. "Do you know _temporus insubstatium_? It would take me a while to cast that on my own, and…" Draco looked a little pinker, suddenly. Harry grinned.

"Yeah," Harry answered, very quietly. "I know that one. A good choice. How long, do you think? What should we be up to when everyone can find us again?"

"No more than twenty minutes," Draco said, turning to nuzzle and speak directly into Harry's ear. "Fifteen might do. Or ten, possibly? People are surely looking for us by now." One arm went around Harry's back and he sucked Harry's earlobe into his mouth for a moment, leaving it almost cold when he released it. "Do you have any limits on tonight?"

"Limits?" Harry said stupidly.

Draco chuckled and turned Harry fully into his arms. "Limits," he repeated into Harry's ear. "Like you don't want your cock on the cover of the _Prophet_ sort of limits."

"They wouldn't dare," Harry said confidently. "Besides, I've clearly jumped into the ocean with both feet. I think it's too late to look back. Let's set the charm for twenty minutes and just… see what happens."

"What the hell," Draco said, sounding reckless and eager. "Let's cast?"

They turned back to back and began to weave a bubble of smoke. The beauty of this charm was it could last as long as the caster chose, up to a maximum of perhaps two full hours, if the caster was strong enough, and did not neglect it after casting. But if the caster was weak, distracted, or inexperienced, the charm could begin to fail long before intended.

When this one began to dissipate after a mere twenty minutes, no one would suspect, Harry was confident, that he and Draco had cast it weakly on purpose. Others would assume inexperience or distraction, and Harry and Draco's ruse would stay concealed even as their bodies were revealed.

Inside the smoke bubble, now nearly complete, Harry was weaving final touches into the top when he felt Draco move away from his back. "Mm?" he asked, and turned around slowly, hoping to like what he would see.

He did.

Draco was leaning back against a tree, his robes slowly opening under his hands. He was as bare underneath them as he had promised, and his cock looked to be mostly hard already. He grinned seductively at Harry.

Harry smiled back, hoping he looked sly, and stalked the three steps over to Draco. "You look delicious," he murmured into Draco's ear, and licked his neck once, then bit gently at Draco's strong jaw.

"I think I need to taste you." Then Harry slid down Draco's body without another word and carefully rubbed his stubbled cheek against the head of Draco's cock. It jerked and Draco gasped.

"Like that, do you?" Harry said, and swallowed the whole thing as far as he could go. Over Harry's head, Draco gasped and tossed his head back once, twice. Harry wrapped one hand around the base of Draco's cock and varied the pressure in his mouth, just as Draco had for him some days before. Then he teased the slit of Draco's cock and Draco wrenched away with a moan.

"Fuck you," he demanded. "Now!"

Harry disrobed swiftly, Draco assisting. Soon they lay on Draco's robes kissing and biting at each others mouths. Harry's arsehole tingled with the combined cleaning and lubricating charm Draco had used on him before. He truly preferred lube, had even brought some, but their mouths were too busy to discuss such things.

Harry moved to lay flat on his back, ignoring the uneven ground under Draco's robe. "In me now," he moaned, "in me!"

Draco moved over Harry and pushed inside. With no preparation and some days 'off' it was uncomfortable for a half heartbeat before… "Yeah…" Harry groaned. "What I needed," he breathed into Draco's shoulder.

"Eeehhh…" Draco whined incoherently.

A small rock dug into Harry's back. It helped him stay just focused enough to murmur filth into Draco's ear. "You come, handsome. You fill me up and I'll roll you over and get you hard again with just my mouth and hands. Just wait till you feel what I can do." He spread his legs a bit, bracing his feet better. Draco's cock went in even farther and Harry pushed up, meeting him, deepening the connection they were repeating.

"I love the way it feels when you come in me, Draco."

"Good!" Draco whined, and sped up, forcing Harry's body into the ground and pressing his teeth into the curve of Harry's shoulder without biting or licking. It didn't take long before he was coming. Jerking his head slightly in the cradle of Harry's neck, hammering his hips and panting like a marathon runner who needed a lot more training.

Harry stroked his hands up Draco's sides, noting that the man was fairly sweaty. "Mm," he said, ducking his nose closer to Draco's armpit. "You smell good."

Draco pulled away slightly and looked into Harry's eyes. "I… _smell_ good?" He wrinkled his nose and Harry had to laugh.

"Yes," Harry agreed, and moved his back off the rock. He grinned unapologetically. "You smell good. You smell like sex. You smell like a man. And you smell like whatever aftershave you use." He put his hand up and pushed Draco's sweaty hair away from his temple. He did not fail to notice that Draco pushed his head against Harry's hand slightly. "I noticed your scent right away that morning at Ron and George's shop. Liking someone's smell is very important, and I like yours."

"Mm," Draco said, laying down flat and sounding reflective. "Important, is it? Then it's a good thing I like yours." He turned his head back and grinned at Harry. "But you're still hard and you made me some promises. And that smoke barrier isn't going to last much longer."

"Mmhm," Harry agreed and got up on his knees. He found his wand and cast a strong cushioning charm at the robe, and Draco stifled a laugh. "Blouse," he said quietly, and grinned with mischief.

"I just don't want anything to distract you while I eat your arse," Harry said, and turned quickly to straddle Draco's body and shove his head between the man's legs.

"That won't do," Draco chided and gave Harry a tiny shove, maneuvering them both onto their sides. Harry wriggled down a bit and propped Draco's leg up. Then he surveyed the terrain. He should have known the man would be as clean and hairless as a sheet of new parchment. Far more inviting, though. He pressed in, between Draco's thighs and smelled Draco's sweaty tang. Then he licked Draco's thigh and heard a satisfying intake of breath.

"If just _that_ makes you gasp," Harry said happily, "then this ought to be quite the evening."

He used his hands to expose Draco's entire perineum and took one ball into his mouth. He felt Draco wriggle a bit and then there were fingers touching his own arsehole.

"Mm!" Harry hummed and two of Draco's fingers slipped easily into his body.

"You go right ahead and do whatever," Draco said, sounding ridiculously nonchalant. "I'll just be over here, enjoying this end of you." He put another finger into Harry's arse. It felt even better than two. Harry rested his head on Draco's thigh.

Harry pulled Draco's other ball into his mouth and moved so he could more easily breathe through his nose. Draco slid a fourth finger into Harry and now he could feel the stretch.

"Ungh…" Harry sighed around Draco's balls. Caressing Draco's skin with his exhalation.

At this rate Harry would come ages before Draco, and that would not do. Harry grasped Draco's half-hard cock in one hand and wriggled his body just a touch further down. "Brilliant," he breathed, and inhaled. He licked at Draco's rim lightly, and felt Draco's responding shiver. He squeezed Draco's cock a bit and felt the way it filled his hand, even so recently spent.

The fingers in Harry's arse relaxed and he knew he only had a moment to try to catch up. After all, Draco had come once earlier tonight and Harry had not.

Harry pressed his tongue hard against the furled skin beneath his tongue. Draco shivered again and his fingers slipped most of the way out of Harry's arse. Grinning his temporary victory, Harry bit Draco's thigh and licked Draco's hole again. He stroked Draco's cock gently. It wasn't hard yet, but it did seem to have stopped deflating.

All four of Draco's fingers curled loosely into Harry's body and Harry knew Draco would remember to pay attention soon, and then his slight advantage would be lost.

Harry curled his tongue into a tight little cylinder of muscle and stabbed at Draco's hole, forcing a tiny sob from the man. _What the hell did they really have_, Harry wondered, and fucked Draco's shivering body with his tongue. _What the hell was this? Was it all for show? Was it almost over? Surely tonight_, he realized, licking wet swathes over Draco's hole repeatedly, _had to be the end of the "media campaign" no matter how the public and the news media ultimately reacted. There's only so far we can up the ante with this._

Draco suddenly jerked and began stroking Harry's cock with his hand and fucking Harry's hole with those four slender fingers. Now they were racing and Harry smiled. He knew the _tension_ from their youth, the tension Winston had delighted in mentioning, would have to reawaken somehow. Harry couldn't think of a better way, and moaned as Draco began to stretch him open with his thumb joining the four fingers.

_So it's to be fisting,_ he realized, and pulled a knee higher to help Draco fuck him.

The stretch was intense and there were moments when it was almost unpleasant, but Harry had Draco's gorgeous arse and brilliant handjob to distract him.

Not to mention he could always still Draco's hands for a heartbeat simply by applying his tongue wetly and assiduously to a slightly different part of Draco's arse, perineum, balls, or once the underside of his cock. (Though that was a bit painful for his neck and he didn't keep that up for terribly long.)

Harry closed his eyes. Draco's fist was inside Harry's body now, his _entire hand_. Harry could only whimper and tentatively move his body while simultaneously licking repetitiously right at Draco's hidden curl. Just allowing this was such an expression of trust. His reciprocation was slowing.

He could have tried to do something more clever, only "clever" was pretty much out the window right now. All he could sense was the fist in one end, the arse at the other, and the hand wrapped around his dick.

Anyway, Draco wasn't complaining.

Harry felt his orgasm building hard and his body relaxing around the intense intrusion. He shoved his tongue into Draco's hole, stiffening his spine and fucking Draco's wet fist while Draco's other wet fist fucked him hard.

Speech was out of the question right now, but he knew his body revealed his need and Draco responded beautifully, stroking the shaft and head of Harry's cock so firmly and rhythmically, and fucking hard and smooth into Harry's arse in a beautiful counterpoint.

Draco hit Harry's prostate again and that was the end of Harry's tenuous control. Come sprayed from the end of his cock and it was as though the last inch or two came off with it. The orgasm was so intense it almost hurt and Harry arched his back and moaned like a banshee. Draco gave no quarter at all, once again pushing Harry further than was easy or simple, not letting go when the intensity reached and surpassed previous peaks, not paying attention as Harry ground out "too much!" And then it wasn't anymore. Draco had found a new mountaintop for Harry and dragged him there, alternatively resisting and eager. Harry didn't have a drop of liquid left in his balls but somehow he was orgasming again, moaning and crying and thrashing, the hands on him everything, nothing, everywhere nowhere and the world went starry black and red.

Then Harry was coasting down the other side, lightheaded and overwhelmed.

He lay there, limp as a wrung out flannel, for a long set of seconds until he realized Draco's heavy erection was still full and needy in his hand. He stroked it hard, intending to pull his mouth away from Draco's arse and suck Draco's cock, but Draco shook with need and Harry got no further than to put the tip of it into his mouth before Draco began to jerk and shoot ropes into Harry's mouth.

Inspired, Harry pulled his mouth off and stroked Draco's cock, milking the come onto his face and reveling in the proof of what he could do to this gorgeous man, even if by some horrible chance it never happened again.

They lay there, resting hard and unable to speak to one another, for longer than Harry would have liked. He was too exhausted to move around and look into Draco's eyes, however. Hell, he was too exhausted to _open_ his eyes for a bit, and he breathed and rested his head on Draco's thigh, finally gathering himself enough to stroke Draco's leg, then back, and finally to get up and rearrange the two of their bodies into a bit of a cuddle.

It was while he was changing position that he saw the gathered people around the outside of the bubble. There were perhaps half a dozen in his line of sight, and he hoped that was all. Rita Skeeter was among them and Harry couldn't resist giving her a nasty smile.

That weird Dendra woman was next to Skeeter and Harry ignored her and all the rest now, in favour of settling next to Draco and looking him in the eye.

"I've never seen you look so…" Harry paused. What could he say that was both accurate and safe? Goofy? Sated? Relaxed? Happy?

"Mm…." Draco said sleepily and ignored Harry's unfinished sentence. He groped around on the ground behind Harry and came up with a wand, which he waved lazily at the glass bubble and then dropped. Harry turned his eyes away from Draco just long enough to note that the bubble had turned into a mirror and instead of strangers, he now saw an infinite and distorted view of their two bodies entwined.

Harry suddenly felt sticky and swiped at his face, smearing come into his cheek. Draco laughed, a beautiful peal of happiness and inclusion. "Let me," he said, and picked up the wand again. A gentle tingle swept over Harry's entire body and he felt far cleaner, though still very warm and tired.

"Come home with me," Harry said impulsively. He hadn't thought this through at all but he only cared if Draco did.

"All right," Draco said, smiling and without hesitation. "How? I can't _Apparate_ right now any more than you can, and I've not the slightest interest in moving."

"Portkey," Harry said firmly.

Draco looked surprised, then pleased. "You thought ahead far enough to pre-authorize a Portkey?" He looked impressed.

Harry blushed. "Er, no," he admitted. "More like, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. I really think the Ministry will let us get away with this."

"Let _you_ get away with it, you mean," Draco chided gently. "All right," he agreed anyway. "It's your fine to pay if you're wrong, and I suspect you can afford it."

Harry winked with a bravura he didn't feel. Then he lifted his head and groped about. He soon found a wand which turned out to be Draco's, and he handed it over. His wand was behind him and he used it to gather all their things into a heap. They rolled themselves a bit tighter into Draco's cloak and Harry turned a small rock into a Portkey which quickly brought them back to Harry's bed.

The rock went on the bedside table, the clothes got dumped on the floor. The lights were out before they arrived. It wasn't long before both men were fast asleep.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427546/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Friday May second dawned sunny and heavily dewed. Harry woke warm, naked and very much wrapped up in the secure embrace of Draco, still fast asleep.

His floor length indigo curtains were slightly parted and Harry watched the sun inch over Draco's softly rising and falling shoulder and arm. The lopsided knitted wool blanket Hermione had given him as a housewarming gift was halfway down the bed, barely covering their hips, but Harry was comfortable in the early morning light and welcome arms of his lover.

It was by no means an ordinary morning.

Harry grinned and fell back to sleep for another hour. When he reawakened it was because Draco was attempting to gently pull away.

"Leaving so soon?" Harry said before he could think, and Draco gave him a chiding grin.

"Figured you'd rather I pissed in your toilet than your bed," Draco chastened, "but if you'd like that…"

"Not right yet," Harry grinned. "Last night was kinky enough for a while, I think, what with the rimming, fisting, and exhibitionism." He turned and sat up, leaning back against the headboard and propping his hands behind his head.

Draco's gaze caressed his shoulders and Harry tried not to have terribly triumphant eyes.

"Don't neglect the 'simultaneous' part of all that," Draco reminded, and headed for the ensuite, closing the door almost all the way and turning on the sink.

"Such modesty, Draco!" Harry laughed, and scratched his balls.

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b* [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427450/) *b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*

Soon they made their way downstairs and Harry started breakfast while Draco stood in the window.

"How long till the _Prophet_ arrives, do you think?" he asked as Harry put the two plates heaping with eggs, toast, bacon and tomato on the table.

"Not long, I suspect," Harry said, putting a sunny-side up egg on a piece of pumpkin-seed wholemeal. They were almost done eating, however, by the time the new _Prophet_ owl arrived. Harry paid him and handed him a bacon rind as well, while Draco unrolled the paper.

"Shit!" Draco gasped with unmistakable horror, and stood up, knocking his chair to the floor, flat on its back. "Fuck! Oh my, fucking…. No!"

Draco's 'No!' was a wail of pain and Harry, by now rather terrified, reached for the paper.

As Draco ran for the stairs, Harry saw that the front of the newspaper was covered with licking black and white fire. Draco's business, and the flat above, had been completely destroyed.

Arson.

Harry skimmed the paper as he stumbled up the stairs. The Aurors had arrested one Deborah Coulter on the scene. The very same woman that had won Skeeter's mother fucking _contest_ and Harry dropped the paper in the doorway as he rushed into his bedroom to find Draco pulling on his second boot.

"My shop!" he said, sounding miserable, helpless and stunned, and Harry grabbed his arm.

"I know, Draco, I know. Give me three seconds to dress and we will _Apparate_ there together. I'll side along you."

"There's no _time!_," Draco wailed in panic and Harry grabbed his chin.

"Yes, there is. _Wait_." Harry found the clothes he'd worn to Beltane and put them on so quickly he nearly hurt something, all the while unable to not watch as Draco wrung his hands and paced.

As soon as Harry could, he grabbed his own and Draco's wands off the bedside table, grabbed Draco's hands and—after catching Draco's frantic eye and seeing the nod—whirled them into space and brought them within thirty yards of what was now a burned out hulk. The stench of spent fire was unmistakable and both lovers recoiled for a moment. Harry put an arm around Draco and when Draco not only let him, but turned inward and bent down, Harry's chest cramped. He tightened his embrace and wished he knew what to do.

Neville Longbottom approached them quickly, his Auror robes and badge looking a bit sootier than Harry would have expected. Neville's face was smudged with soot as well, Harry realized, and his eyes looked bruised and tired.

"Harry, Malfoy," Neville said briskly. "We're glad you are here. Mr Malfoy, the department would be grateful if you could come in and answer some questions. There is no doubt about the perpetrator. We caught her in the act and she admitted full responsibility for the fire. There is no suspicion on either of you gentlemen. But since this business was—"

Draco stifled a sob and Neville's professional façade cracked and reformed almost invisibly. Harry threw Neville a worried smile and Neville nodded at him professionally.

"Since you _are_," Neville backtracked, "a potions Master, there is some extra paperwork. It is all very routine, I assure you."

"Of course," Draco said, sounding far calmer than the iron grip he had on Harry's hand would have implied. "Is there…" Draco faltered and Neville took over.

"I'm sorry Mr Malfoy, there appears to be nothing left. Call on us today, please? Perhaps in an hour or two? You may bring Mr Potter if you wish."

Draco nodded numbly and Harry wrapped his free hand around Draco's back, pulling him into a protective embrace. Draco did not watch as Neville walked away.

Harry had the weirdest flash of misery, realizing that all the flowers he had bought for Draco from Winston were gone. The orchids in the silver pot, the tulips so purple they were black, and the ridiculous cock-flower, the anthurium. The oddest pick up line he'd ever attempted. All burned to cinder.

That fucking bitch.

"Come with me," Harry said firmly after a moment of feeling Draco's tall, strong body shivering in his arms. "There's nothing for you to do here but be upset, and I neglected to make any coffee or tea this morning. We're going to The Copper Cup."

Harry got them out of the view of the crime scene on foot, then pulled them into a discreet alleyway and side-alonged Draco into London. He took Draco's hand and brought him inside, ordered him a coffee, paid for it, and steered him to a table.

Draco stared into his coffee cup for a long time before he sighed and began to drink. Only after he put the cup down did Harry speak.

"Do you have insurance?" he asked.

"What?" Draco looked confused very briefly. "Oh, yes. Lots. The goblins aren't going to like… but yes. I carried a _lot_ of insurance. That was a Muggle concept my father had no difficulty adopting. I bought it as soon as I applied for my business license."

"Good." Harry said with a firmness and authority he didn't feel, thinking of the burned out hulk. "Then you will rebuild. And I will help. Until then, though, you should move in with me."

"What?" Draco said, looking—as though it were possible—even more stunned. "You want me to… what?"

"It's the obvious next move," Harry said, bluffing at least one of them. He put both hands on the table and covered Draco's with them. "You need a place to live, and someone to take care of you while you regroup.

"Besides," he said, and he heard his voice soften and felt his poker face slip, "I want you there."

"I…" Draco picked up his coffee mug with one hand, letting Harry's palm rest warmly over the other, still on the table. He took a long sip, steam rising into his face. Harry waited.

Draco put his mug down. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Draco." Harry said, and swallowed. Harry knew his heart was shining through his eyes but he decided not to care. "Say yes."

"Er…" Draco hesitated, his eyes open, naked with fear and pain and uncertainty. Harry patted his hand, feeling awkward, like he was taking advantage, like he was being too impulsive, and altogether unwilling to take back the offer nonetheless.

"If it doesn't…" Draco said diplomatically.

"If it's a mistake, move out." Harry said, his guts in his throat and a smile on his face so fake it couldn't have fooled a baby.

Draco put down the coffee mug and took both of Harry's hands into his own, took Harry's gaze into his own, and searched. Then he smiled. Harry told himself the smile didn't look fake at all.

"It may well be the dumbest damn thing I've ever done, but…" Draco's shoulders rose and then fell once as he took a deep breath and released it. "Yes, Harry. I will move in with you."

Harry let his breath release in a stream of air forceful enough to blow a serviette right off the table, and the two men erupted in crazy, nervous laughter. The whole Muggle coffee shop turned to stare, but Harry and Draco did not see.

All Harry could see was the cliff he'd leapt from, and that Draco was right there falling with him. Holding his hand.

[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427298/) [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4545793219/) [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/45301693@N07/4546427298/)

 

b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b ***FINIS*** b*e*l*t*a*n*e*e*n*a*t*l*e*b*


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